


The Young and the Free

by starspangledsprocket



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Whump, Unrequited Love, kidnap, mentally de-aged!Tony, my response to IM3, non Cap 2 compliant, that's actually requited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledsprocket/pseuds/starspangledsprocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony are finally becoming friends when Loki decides to play a prank. Now Steve has fully grown man with the mind of a three year old to deal with, made all the worse by Tony's apparent hero worship. Meanwhile, dark forces are lurking in the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Young and the Free

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to commando-rogers and em1ree for the beta. 
> 
> This isn't Cap 2 compliant. I actually wrote this before I saw it, so anything that lines up is completely coincidental. Enjoy!

As far as Loki's pranks went, Steve thought this one might definitely be the worst, and – considering their line of work – that was really saying something.

“Physically, he seems fine,” Bruce sighed, leaning back in his chair to put the stethoscope away as Tony continued to, well... _colour_ at the kitchen table. “Mentally, I'd say he's regressed to three, maybe four years old.”

“M'three and a half,” Tony mumbled. His voice was vacant of its usual confident bravado, and was slightly stilted and lilting like all children's were instead. It was very odd, honestly.

“Well, his speech is very advanced for his age, anyway,” Bruce continued, watching as Tony drew out a rough, childish sketch of what – to Steve's embarrassment – looked like Captain America. “His motor skills seem advanced too, but that could just be muscle memory from his adult body. He's not as agile as he used to be – probably a mental block – but the spell doesn't seem to have impaired him in any way but regressing his memory.”

Steve huffed. “And that's not enough to be worrying about?”

“There's no need to worry,” Bruce smiled, taking the picture from Tony when the man shyly – _shyly –_ held it out to him. “You're doing just fine, aren't you Tony?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded.

“Your picture is very good,” the doctor praised, and Steve watched carefully as Tony's face quickly moulded itself into an expression of intense pride to hide the obvious uncertainty that had flashed across it for just a moment. “Is this you? Holding Steve's hand?”

“Holding Captain 'merica's hand,” Tony corrected, shooting a sideways glance at Steve before ducking his head, seemingly embarrassed. “Captain 'merica's my favourite.”

“Is he now?” Bruce asked, grinning smugly at Steve as he showed him the picture. “You know Steve _is_ Captain America, right?”

“ _Really?”_ Tony gasped, spinning in his chair to stare at Steve with wide, amazed eyes. “You're Captain 'merica?”

Steve glared at Bruce, but the scientist just smiled placidly back at him. Sometimes, he hated his life.

\---

Steve had been in the twenty first century for almost five years, and – in those five years – a lot had happened. After Loki's initial attack, Tony and Thor had managed to get themselves into some trouble – Tony with some guy on the West Coast, and Thor with another alien and, once again, his brother – while Steve, himself, had learned some hard truths when he and Natasha had partnered up to take down the Winter Soldier. He heard the occasional thing about Bucky, but not nearly as much as he would like.

By the time everyone had been on their separate adventures – and even Clint had had his stint in rehab after the whole Loki ordeal, so he was dealing with stuff, too – Steve was under the impression that the whole team had just been exhausted, and lonely, and that... that was when Tony had given them a call, inviting him and the other Avengers to come stay at the newly reopened, re _named_ Avengers Tower.

Steve hadn't taken up an offer so quickly since agreeing to be part of Dr. Erskine's program, and he arrived the very next day with his duffel bag of belongings – the others arriving soon after. Honestly, it was nice to be living with other people again – something he hadn't done since before he'd been frozen, because living at SHIELD did _not_ count as living with other people – and he hadn't realised how much he'd missed simple, human interaction.

Of course, the first few weeks had been like living in a fraternity house – odd socks left everywhere and fully grown men staggering into the kitchen at any given time of the day or night in nothing more than a pair of underwear – until Natasha had put her deadly foot down and threatened their manhoods if they didn't buck up their ideas.

It was safe to say that they had all been very tidy and well behaved ever since.

They grew closer, too, in the months that followed, to the point where Steve now considered them all a part of his family. He knew more about the five people he was currently living with than anything else in the twenty first century, in fact; he knew that Clint was a very physically affectionate person – hugging and touching everyone and anyone whenever he got the opportunity – and liked a good morning hug from at least one of them every day (usually Natasha, who Steve had realised secretly liked the affection, even if she was cool and collected during the whole exchange). He was also pretty sure the archer had built a nest somewhere up in the vents of the communal floor, but he wasn't doing any harm, so nobody said anything about it.

Natasha had a thing for crappy daytime TV, and had even managed to draw Steve in to watch with her on more than one occasion (stupid and heartbreaking life stories). Her favourite show by far was Dancing with the Stars, and the other Avengers – Steve included – knew better than to get between her and the remote when it was on. Tony had a scar on his forehead that would forever be a reminder of that, after all. Natasha also had a rather unlikely taste for spy novels, and had a full bookcase of them in her room. She said she only liked them because she could pick apart the inaccuracies, but Steve wasn't completely convinced by that – not after walking in on her crying whilst reading one

If he was able to scar, he would also have one the shape of a bookend on his forehead for interrupting her during her down time.

Thor was a little harder to pin down, because he didn't spend that much time at the tower – choosing, instead, to visit his girlfriend, Jane, over in England, and hopping back over to Asgard. What he did know, however, was that the big guy had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, and he was also fairly certain the god was hoarding some kind of live animal in his room as a pet after Tony had disallowed it. From the smell, Steve was pretty sure it was some kind of dog, but nobody seemed to be willing to broach the subject, so he let it be in the hope that Thor was at least looking after it.

Bruce tended to keep mostly to himself, but whoever did the weekly shop made sure to buy in lots of herbal tea for him, because they had found early on that it soothed and calmed him down. Plus, there wasn't a single one of them who didn't melt a little when Bruce was happy, because – especially at the beginning – it was such a rare occurrence that each smile they could get out of him was like winning an award. Of course, Bruce was much happier now (Steve hoped, at least), and he still spent a lot of time in his lab, but he also seemed to be making an effort to join in with everyone else, which was nice. He was an amazing cook too, which meant that they never went hungry. Steve, secretly, thought of him as the dad of the group.

And then there was Tony. God, how could he even _begin_ to explain Tony? The man had let them into his home, for Christ's sake – let them at his food, and technology, and facilities – and rarely complained about it at all (even though Steve was all too aware that they could get a little rowdy and messy sometimes). Tony was a genius – he was far too busy working on bettering the world to worry about superheroes messing up his kitchen. Steve didn't like the hours he kept, of course, or the state of his diet, but he'd found – if he hid the coffee machine in the kitchen, and then made the genius' favourite snack of pancakes drowning in syrup – he could almost always coax him out of his cave for some sunlight and actual human interaction. From there, with his mind not so focused, he tended to crash really quickly, and became pliable enough that Steve could usher him off to bed.

Steve was sometimes a little regretful that he hadn't made more of an effort with Tony. He _liked_ Tony – maybe a little too much – and he certainly wanted to spend more time with him, but... he didn't want to be a burden. The genius was obviously a busy man, constantly working either in his workshop or at the office, and that was obviously more important than, say, catching a movie together, or maybe some dinner, or... something.

He was aware that he may or may not have a problem.

_This_ Tony, however – the one that was currently sat about five inches away from the TV, watching Saturday morning cartoons – didn't have a care in the world. In fact, since learning Steve was Captain America, all he seemed to want to do was spend time with him, and, well... Steve couldn't exactly turn him down, could he? The man's puppy-dog eyes were surprisingly effective, especially when paired with the softer, innocent voice he seemed to have taken up.

“Tony,” he called gently, when he noticed the man's head actually resting against the screen of the television. “Maybe you shouldn't sit so close, huh? It'll hurt your eyes.”

“Jus' a minute,” Tony replied softly, reaching up to fiddle with his hair – something they had all quickly realised meant the genius was tired. It was an adorable quirk, really, and one that Steve hadn't seen adult Tony do, so he must have grown out of it the first time around.

“Are you tired?” he tried instead, because – even though it was much too early for his nap (because putting a fully grown man down for an afternoon nap had become part of Steve's schedule, apparently) – he was hoping he could coax him away from the screen and onto the softer couch. Tony just shook his head, though, his eyes transfixed on the TV as he continued to curl his hair between his fingers. “Well, do you want to sit with me?”

“Yeah!” Tony gasped immediately, and Steve decided not to analyse the way the man immediately sprang to his feet and came running over too closely, for fear of going completely insane.

The problem was that Steve was so used to dealing with adults, and their understanding of the world, that he hadn't even _thought_ about the fact that Tony would want to _sit on his lap_. Oh, what a mistake that was, for he came padding quickly over on slightly unsteady feet, and plonked himself down in Steve's lap as though it was the most normal thing in the world. Steve, on the other hand, had to bite back a squeak of surprise as 150 pounds of lithe, tanned muscle dropped down on top of him.

One of the upsides to this, at least, was that Tony either hadn't realised (or didn't care) that his body wasn't that of a usual three year old's. As far as Steve could tell, the only time he'd mentioned it was when he'd decided to flash them all his full tummy, and then had proceeded to giggle as he ran his fingers through his treasure trail, as though he had never seen it before.

Steve had immediately had to go for a cold shower, and felt ridiculously guilty for the whole of the next day.

“You, uh... you comfortable, buddy?” he asked, tentatively wrapping his arms around Tony – so he wouldn't slip, of course.

“Uh huh,” Tony replied, sighing contentedly as he wrapped an arm of his own around Steve's shoulders and snuggled in closer, playing absent-mindedly with Steve's hair instead of his own. It felt unfairly good. “We're watchin' Transformers.”

“Oh... okay.” Honestly, Steve didn't know what they were watching so, if Tony told him they were watching Transformers, he was inclined to believe him. It only proved how thoroughly regressed Tony was, though – Steve had never, once, seen adult Tony watch this show, even if it seemed like something he would kind of like, what with the robots and everything. The colourful graphics and simple dialogue showed it was obviously for very small children.

“Do you want some lunch when this finishes?” he asked, eyes fluttering closed momentarily as Tony fiddled with the hair on the crown of his head.

“Yeah,” the brunet replied softly, beginning to droop on his lap with tiredness. Watching cartoons all morning was a hard business, after all. “Can I have pee bee 'n jay?”

“Of course,” he nodded in agreement.

“Hey, I didn't know it was cuddle time!”

“Not a word, Clint,” he snapped, not even bothering to turn around.

\---

“When was the last time he bathed?”

Steve was in the kitchen, making Tony's promised PB&J sandwich, when Natasha walked in and sat down beside the genius at the table. Honestly, this was the fourth day since Tony's transformation, and he hadn't thought about the need for bodily hygiene even once – had just assumed, rather naively, that Tony had been bathing himself.

“I hadn't really thought about it -”

“I know he didn't exactly bathe much as an adult, either, so we're all used to the smell, but I don't think he'll be able to do it on his own when he's in this condition,” she continued, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table. “We should probably bathe him as much as we can while we have the chance.”

Steve thought about defending Tony, but really, he knew that Natasha was right. When the genius got into a work binge, he often didn't leave his workshop for days, and the smell could get quite repugnant. In comparison, Tony actually still smelt quite fresh today. The thought that they would have to alternatively strip him down, so undignified, and wash him themselves just didn't sit very well with him.

That, and the fact that he would have miles of tanned, naked, writhing Tony to have to deal with.

But it wasn't like they could just not do it and hope for the best – bodily hygiene was important, as Natasha had said, and they couldn't _not_ wash him because it was a little awkward. Steve was just going to have to suck it up and get on with it. After all, it wasn't like he hadn't seen Tony naked before, between the photos he'd accidentally found on the internet and the men's locker room at SHIELD. He was a soldier, for God's sake. He could do this.

“Okay,” he nodded, handing Tony his sandwich. “I'll take first rotation.”

\---

He couldn't do this.

As it turned out, wet, naked Tony wasn't even the worst part of it – it was the fact that he was so _damn cute_ when he was in the tub. He'd even made a beard out of the bubble bath, for God's sake, and was grinning at Steve like he thought he was the cleverest kid around. He was a grown man, and grown men should not have been able to melt Steve's heart like Tony was currently doing.

“You're a menace – you know that?” he sighed, tugging his shirt sleeve up a little higher before dunking his cloth back into the water, aiming to clean Tony's face.

“M'not,” Tony just grinned, holding out the rubber duck JARVIS had ordered for him as though he wanted Steve to clean its face as well. “M'Tony.”

“Yeah, you are,” Steve nodded, sighing again as Tony spluttered when he tried to scrub his face. “You're going to have to hold still, you know, or it'll get in your eyes.”

Really, he didn't know why he had thought this would be in any way sexy before. This was a _nightmare._

“Don' like it,” Tony whined, trying to squirm away from Steve's grip on his chin, and just managing to get water and suds everywhere. “No, Steve, stop!”

Steve couldn't help but grin as he moved on to wash the genius' neck and shoulders, because Tony was quickly becoming a writhing, giggling mess in a way he had never seen adult Tony act before. It was a little sad, really, that Tony never showed this level of simple joy when he was in his right mind, and Steve found himself suddenly vowing he would change that when the genius was back to normal.

“All right, done,” he conceded, pulling away and holding the cloth out for Tony to take. “Can you... you need to wash your bottom half yourself, okay? Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony nodded, dropping his duck in exchange for the cloth. He dunked it into the water – scrubbing quickly and not particularly effectively at his groin and legs – but Steve was so glad he wasn't putting up a fight that he found he didn't really mind. Just soaking would get rid of most of the grime, anyway.

When he was done, Tony handed the cloth back and grabbed hold of his duck again, so Steve wrung out the material and traded it for the bottle of shampoo sitting on the side of the bathtub. Honestly, this had been the part he was dreading the most, because weren't kids supposed to hate having their hair washed?

“Okay, Tony, I need to do your hair now,” he explained, squirting some shampoo into his hands. “Can you close your eyes for me?”

Tony nodded, still surprisingly compliant, and did as he was told – even tilting his head back a little to make sure nothing ran down onto his face. A little shocked at the immediate obedience, but not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, Steve started scrubbing the shampoo into the genius' already wet hair. Tony hummed contentedly, and Steve paused for a moment, because... was he _falling asleep in the tub?_

“You, uh... you like having your hair washed?” he asked tentatively, catching a few suds before they slipped down the other man's forehead and into his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Tony sighed. “Feels good.”

Swallowing thickly – because the genius didn't seem to realise that his voice had pitched lower as he spoke, and that was... _definitely_ something – Steve pulled his hands away again, secretly delighting in the little noise of disapproval from Tony.

God, he was a sick, twisted man.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he croaked, clearing his throat as he grabbed for the little bucket floating around near Tony's feet. “And tilt your head back a little bit more for me.”

Tony, again, did as he was told, but that just exposed the long line of his neck, and Steve almost swallowed his tongue with the effort not to just lean forwards and kiss his way down it. God _dammit_ – what the hell was wrong with him? He could usually control his urges much better than this, and Tony was a _child_ , for Pete's sake – hardly capable of washing himself, never mind anything else.

Why Tony had decided to latch onto him, he would never know, but the temptation was quickly becoming unbearable. Of course, Steve knew he would never do anything in the _least_ bit untoward while the other man wasn't able to give his complete consent, and he knew this was his problem, but... it was just so _unfair._

“Steve?” Tony asked, brow furrowing a little in confusion, as he snapped him out of his thoughts. “You gonna wash m'hair?”

Taking a deep breath, Steve let it out slowly. He needed to get a handle on himself. Tony didn't owe him anything – now or ever – and he needed to stop pining like some lost puppy, because his friend needed him. That was what he had to focus on now.

“Yeah, Tony, sorry,” he nodded, scooping some water into the little bucket, and then – carefully, so as to avoid water getting onto the genius' face – he poured it through the man's soapy hair. “Okay?”

Tony just nodded again, obviously enjoying himself, if the small, earnest smile on his face was anything to go by. Honestly, Steve hadn't seen a more beautiful sight in a very, very long time. Focusing once more on his task, he emptied the bucket over Tony's head a few more times, then – running his fingers through the dark locks analytically – declared him clean and ready to get out.

“You could use a shave,” he decided, almost as an afterthought, as he held a towel up for Tony to step into – studiously avoiding looking at the man's naked, dripping body as he stumbled out of the tub.

It was true – the genius' normally perfectly shaped facial hair was beginning to look a little shaggy and unkempt, and looked even stranger on a face that suddenly held so much fragile innocence. It would be risky – what with Tony's new found propensity to want to squirm and move – but a risk Steve was willing to take, because this was just unacceptable.

“Why?” Tony asked, out of the blue, and Steve immediately paused. This was the first time since he had been mentally de-aged that Tony had questioned someone else's authority. Sure, they had been expecting it at the beginning, but, now – after days of compliance – Steve found himself shocked.

“I... because your beard is looking a little scruffy,” he replied, frowning in confusion as – hitching the towel tighter around his body – Tony padded to the mirror over the sink at the other side of the room. “Tony?”

The genius seemed to contemplate his reflection for a long moment, and Steve began to worry that he was going to realise he didn't look like he would usually as a three year old – because the evidence was _plain to see –_ and start freaking out. Instead, the man just hummed indecisively, and then turned back to Steve, grinning his usual, child-like grin. 

“Okay, Steve,” he nodded, padding back over to sit, balancing precariously, on the rim of the bathtub. “Stories after?”

“Uh...” Steve, honestly, didn't know what to think. Filing this whole experience away – with the intention of going to Bruce about it later, because surely Tony should have noticed something that was right in front of his eyes? – he nodded, moving across the room to grab the shaving kit Tony kept under the sink. “Sure. Can you, uh... come hop up on the counter for me?”

Tony's eyes lit up, as though he'd been asked to do something particularly naughty, and hurtled across the room to jump clumsily up beside the sink. Towel wrapped around his shoulders, it didn't really hide what was important, but – by this point – Steve was so done with the whole experience that he just grabbed the corner of the material and recovered the other man's lap without a word.

“Now, I need you to keep really still for me, okay?” he instructed, squirting some shaving foam into his hands, then – rubbing them together a little bit – covered the areas of Tony's face where the hair would have to come off completely. He'd trim the rest with the little pair of scissors in the kit later, he figured.

Reaching back into the bag for a razor – and finding it strangely endearing that Tony seemed to prefer disposable ones over the expensive, electric ones he had supplied the other Avengers with – he filled the sink with warm water, and couldn't help but smile fondly when he caught Tony checking out his reflection in the mirror.

“S'like war paint,” the man defended when he realised Steve had caught him, pouting.

“I don't think it's exactly the same thing,” he replied, still grinning as he gently took Tony's chin in his free hand again and carefully removed the first strip of hair and product. “Okay?”

Tony nodded – just slightly, because he seemed to be taking Steve's words about not moving to heart – and hummed in agreement. Taking this as the signal to go on, Steve vigilantly set to work, using all his artistic skill to shape Tony's beard back into its original glory.

“Steve?" Tony asked, quietly, after a few moments of relaxed silence. His voice seemed a little off.

“Yeah, Tony?” he replied, frowning as he concentrated on not catching the genius' lip with the razor.

“I love you.”

He could have blamed the reason he clipped the genius' face on the fact that Tony was moving, but that would be a lie; honestly, he was just so shocked by those words coming out of the man's mouth, with such conviction – even if his tone was still light and childish – that he faltered in his task and accidentally cut just above Tony's lip with the razor.

Immediately, the brunet's hands flew to his mouth and he pulled away – eyes wide with shock and betrayal as he made a noise like a dying animal.

“Shit, Tony, I'm sorry,” Steve started, reaching out to... well, he didn't really know. It didn't seem to matter, though, because Tony moved away from him and looked down at his hands as he pulled them away from his mouth – bottom lip trembling and eyes wet as he showed Steve the little stain of blood over his fingers.

“You said a swear,” he whispered, obviously desperately trying not to cry, and Steve felt like absolute shit.

“I know,” he sighed, taking Tony's hands gently in his own to wash off in the sink. Honestly, the cut on his face was nothing – just a regular clip that came with shaving – but it had obviously been a shock after the brunet had trusted him so explicitly to take care of him. “I'm sorry.”

“Hurts,” Tony replied, voice wobbly as he breathed out slowly. “There's blood...”

“I know, I'm sorry,” Steve repeated, leaning over to snag a bit of toilet paper, “but you're okay. You took me by surprise, is all. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Tony nodded, immediately giving back the trust that Steve had just broken – and if he hadn't known the man wasn't in his right mind before, he did now, because once you lost Tony Stark's trust, there was virtually no way in hell to earn it back. Sighing to himself, he set about carefully cleaning the blood from Tony's face, and then quickly – but extraordinarily delicately, so as not to repeat his mistake – finished shaving the rest of the brunet's face.

“There you go,” he murmured, checking closely for any spots he could have missed. “Good as new.”

Now the fuzzy patches were gone, he decided that fine trimming could wait for a few days. Tony had had enough trauma for one day, after all.

“S'it still bleeding?” Tony asked, reaching up to prod his lip as Steve finished drying off his face with a hand towel, so he gently pulled the man's hand away again before he did more damage.

“No, it's fine,” he told him, checking just to make sure. “If you keep touching it, it's going to get infected. Just let it be, okay?”

Tony pouted, but nodded, and – for the second time that evening – sent Steve's brain skidding to a stop when he asked, voice small, “Kiss it better?”

For a second – just one, glorious second – Steve considered taking him up on the offer. He considered covering Tony's top lip with both of his own, and kissing the man breathless.

But Tony was a child.

As quickly as the thoughts had come, they evaporated immediately into nothing more than guilt and a distant want that he could easily control. He could wait. If – when he was in his right mind – Tony still wanted him to kiss him better, he would be on the man faster than a kid at Christmas, but, until then – _if_ it happened at all – he would be the kind, nurturing presence that Tony really needed right now.

With yet another sigh – because that seemed to be all he was capable of, these days – he leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to Tony's forehead, instead. The genius looked adorably confused when he pulled away again – obviously because that hadn't been what he'd asked for – but he didn't complain, either.

“I think it's about time we got you got ready for bed, don't you?” Steve just asked, giving him as sincere a smile as he could manage.

\---

Steve didn't sleep a wink that night. He'd managed to palm Tony off on Bruce for story and bedtime, because he needed to get away – just needed a few moments to _think –_ and now, four hours later, he was laid on his bed, still fully clothed, and having a bit of a crisis.

He was in love with Tony Stark.

How could he have let this _happen_? Yes, he'd realised long ago that he had feelings for the man, but he'd had them under control! Why, now – when there was absolutely no way in hell that he could actually do anything about it – had he decided to go and fall in love with him? It made absolutely no sense.

He was just going to have to keep his distance a little more – allow himself to get over this, before he made things between them too awkward for them to even stay friends – and then, when Tony was back to normal, that's exactly what they'd do; stay friends. Tony never needed to be any the wiser. It wasn't like the other Avengers were pulling their weight in looking after Tony, anyway, so it would be perfectly reasonable for Steve to ask for them to take him for a little while. It would hurt like hell, watching someone else taking care of Tony, but Steve was a big boy, and he could handle it.

And then he heard a pathetic little sniffling noise coming from the other side of his bedroom door.

Groaning loudly to himself, he covered his head with a pillow and hoped the noise would go away, because he knew exactly who was making it, and he didn't think he could deal with this right now. Instead, because the world obviously hated him, there came a weak rap on the door, before a congested, “Steeb?” filtered through.

There was no way – whether he was trying to keep distance or not – that he could just leave Tony out in the hall like that when he was obviously so upset. Sighing to himself, and cursing his weakness for the genius when he needed him, he got out of bed and shuffled over to the door – Tony's red, tear-tracked face the first thing he saw as he opened it.

“What's wrong, buddy?” he asked wearily, watching as Tony's bottom lip began to tremble again.

“Bad dreams,” Tony hiccuped, rubbing adorably at one of his sore, red eyes. “Very bad dreams.”

Steve could tell that the other man was obviously very distressed, and couldn't very well leave him like that, so – gingerly – he pulled him forwards and wrapped him up in his arms for a hug. Immediately, Tony sagged into his chest and began to cry softly again, and the whole experience was so surreal and upsetting that Steve couldn't help but hug him closer and try to back them both into his room to protect and nurture the other man until he felt better.

“Did you not try to find Bruce?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, and not really putting up much of a fight when Tony crawled into his lap and held onto him tightly. “He's closer to your room than I am.”

“I tried, I tried,” Tony sniffled helplessly. “JARVIS said he wasn' there.”

It wasn't really all that unusual for Bruce to work late into the night, so Steve wasn't really worried about it. What he was worried about, however, was what Tony could possibly have been dreaming about to get him into this state.

“Do you want to talk about your dreams?” he asked, softly running a hand up and down the man's back to try and sooth him, but Tony just shook his head vehemently.

“No, no,” he stuttered, breath coming short and fast in his throat. “They was tryin' t'hurt me, Steve, don' let 'em hurt me, please. They was tryin' t'force me to build stuff.”

Steve stilled, breath catching in his throat, because... Tony couldn't have been dreaming about _Afghanistan_ , could he? Bruce had said that he was completely regressed – he had shown all the signs of being regressed – so what was going _on?_

“It was just a dream, Tony; nobody's going to hurt you,” he soothed, running his hand up the other man's back again. “Do you... do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

It was a completely selfish offer, of course, and he felt a little sick at himself for even suggesting it, but Tony seemed to need him just as much as Steve needed Tony right now, so it wasn't all bad, right.

“Uh-huh,” Tony sniffed, clutching Steve's shirt a little tighter. “Wanna sleep with you.”

“Okay,” he took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly, “just get up for me a second, and then I can tuck you in.”

Tony nodded, still sniffling unhappily as he clambered to his feet, and Steve got up after him to pull the covers back for the genius to climb under. Once the man was resting comfortably against the pillows, Steve leaned over and tucked him in gently, and then – before he could second guess himself – leaned in to press another chaste kiss against the genius' forehead. Tony hummed, content, and his eyes fluttered closed as Steve quickly pulled away again.

Rubbing a hand across his face tiredly, he wandered over to his chest of drawers to pull out a pair of pyjama pants, and quickly changed into them – keeping his undershirt on as well, but taking his button-down off – before moving back over to climb into the bed beside Tony. For a few seconds, they both laid perfectly still – Steve on his back at one side of the bed, and Tony on his side on the other – but, slowly and surely, Tony began to shuffle forwards as though seeking out Steve's warmth. The funniest part of the whole charade was that the genius would pause every time Steve breathed a little too loud, or shifted slightly, as though he thought he was being very discreet and Steve didn't know exactly what he was doing.

Finally, after they had been through the cycle at least four times, Steve sighed and rolled onto his side – very nearly brushing noses with Tony, the genius was now so close. “Was there something you needed?” he asked gently, smiling despite himself.

A faint blush began to creep up Tony's neck, to his surprise, and the genius glanced away for a moment, before asking, softly, “Cuddles?”

The whole “distance” thing was obviously going to be no more than wishful thinking, he thought to himself as – with yet another sigh – he opened his arms and allowed Tony to happily slide in right next to him, before hugging him close. Immediately, all the tension left the genius' body, and he sagged against Steve's chest contentedly.

“Better?” he asked, rubbing his hand gently up and down the brunet's back. Tony just hummed in response, so – because he felt like it actually needed saying – Steve continued, “You're safe, Tony. I – _we_ won't let anything happen to you, okay?”

Tony just yawned against his chest – warm breath leaving goosebumps wherever it touched. “Love you, Steve,” he whispered, but, before Steve could even begin to freak out again, a soft snore rattled through the genius' chest, and he was asleep.

“I... I love you, too, Tony,” he allowed himself – just this once – to whisper back.

God, he was _screwed._

\---

When he next woke up, Steve felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and calmness seeping into his bones, and – without opening his eyes – buried his face in the soft hair that had been tickling just under his chin. Of course, when he finally _did_ open his eyes, and looked down to find it was _Tony's_ head resting on the pillow in front of him, he promptly froze – becoming instantly aware of just which parts of him already seemed to have woken up.

A little disgusted with himself, he tried to tilt his hips away from where they had been pressed snugly against Tony's rear, and wiggled a little to try and get the tip of his erection out from under the elastic of his sleep-pants and back into his boxers properly. With both arms trapped around Tony's body, he found he wasn't very successful in his endeavours.

As he was trying to use his elbow to tuck himself back in, Tony let out a sleepy little snuffling sound, and a barely intelligible noise, so he stilled – not wanting to have to explain the situation to the man when he currently had the mind of a three year old... or ever, really. It seemed he was in luck, though, because Tony just sighed softly, shuffled a little, and stayed asleep.

And then the Avengers' alarm went off.

Tony started awake – going stiff in Steve's arms – and then whimpered in his confused, newly-awakened state, before covering his ears with his hands. His bottom lip began trembling again as he snuggled further into Steve's embrace.

“JARVIS?” Steve called over the noise, and – thank God – the AI seemed to understand, because the alarm, once again, shut off. “Can you call Miss Potts? Or, better, Happy? I need someone to watch Tony while we take care of the call.”

“ _Certainly, Captain Rogers. Mr Hogan has been notified. He says he will be here in a matter of moments.”_

“Thanks, JARVIS,” he nodded, reluctantly pulling himself away from the warmth of Tony's body and the bed, and darting over to his walk-in closet to throw the suit on. Thankfully, between the shock of the alarm and Tony's distress, his erection had disappeared.

“Steeeeeeeve?” Tony whined from the other room just as he was pulling his boots on. “Wha's goin' on?”

“It's nothing to worry about,” he called back, double checking to make sure all his zips were fastened, before walking back out into the bedroom again. “I have to go be Captain America for a while, so Happy's going to come and watch you until we get back, okay?”

He didn't miss the way Tony's eyes completely lit up when he saw him dressed in the uniform, and he had barely braced himself before the genius flopped off the bed and came padding over. He stopped, however, before he could barrel straight into Steve, and looked vaguely overwhelmed by everything all of a sudden.

“Captain 'merica,” the brunet whispered, almost to himself, and had to physically stop himself from reaching out to touch the star in the centre of Steve's chest. Honestly, it was adorable, but Steve really didn't have time for it.

“Come on,” he instructed, steering Tony over to the door and out into the corridor. “Happy will be waiting for you.”

The genius whined the whole elevator ride down to the communal floor, but Steve just let the man's sleepy complaints wash over him as he tried to forget how good it had felt to wake up spooned against the genius' warm, solid back. If he wasn't careful, his thoughts were going to distract him from the call when they finally got out onto the field.

Just as he had hoped, Happy had already arrived when he finally managed to usher Tony out of the elevator and into the communal lounge. After shaking the man's hand and gratefully thanking him for helping at such short notice, he instructed him to make Tony a spot of breakfast and then either colour with him for a while, or just let him watch cartoons. Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned to Tony himself.

“Be good,” he told the man, and Tony pouted. “Happy's going to look after you for a few hours, then we'll be back, okay?”

“Clint promised hide 'n seek,” the brunet mumbled, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest.

“And Clint will play hide and seek with you once we get back,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders a little helplessly at Happy with the man started to chuckle. “I've got to go, all right, so -”

“ _Yo, Cap, get your ass up here. Apparently Doom's had another tantrum and let his Doombots loose down in the theatre district. Wheels up in five,”_ came the archer's voice over his comms, and Steve sighed to himself.

“Yep, I've really got to go,” he nodded, reaching out as if to hug Tony, but then deciding against it. He studiously ignored the way Happy's eyebrows rose into his hairline at the aborted movement, and cursed himself when he realised he had given more away by stopping himself than if he had gone through with the action.

“Bye, Steve!” Tony called – sounding a little confused – as he darted for the elevator again.

_\---_

Despite there only being four of them – with Tony out of commission, and Thor on Asgard, trying to find a way to reverse the spell – the battle really didn't last long. Doombots could be deadly when they wanted to be, but their tactical skills were always somewhat lacking, and it didn't take Steve long to organise the team to take them down en masse. He was a little bit sweaty by the time they were done, and covered in brick dust, but otherwise unharmed as they were all called back to the Helicarrier for clean-up and debriefing.

“Hey, Bruce!” he called, catching the scientist as he was coming out of the men's locker room – remembering that he'd wanted to talk to the man. “Can I talk to you for a second? It's about Tony.”

“Sure,” Bruce nodded, then smiled. “He seems to have imprinted on you like a baby duck.”

“Don't I know it,” he replied, brushing off the comment before he could think about it too hard. “I guess I just wanted to know... well, something a little strange happened yesterday. I'd just finished giving Tony his bath, and mentioned that he needed a shave, but he... he seemed confused about it, and when he went to look in the mirror, it was like he couldn't even _see_ what he looked like. I'd just assumed that he hadn't really had a chance to properly look at himself, but he was stood right in front of a mirror, and he still didn't seem to see that he didn't look like a normal three year old.

“On top of that, he came to me last night saying he'd had nightmares, and when I asked him about them, it seemed like... well, it seemed like he was dreaming about his time in Afghanistan. But how can he be remembering that, when he can't even seem to see what he really looks like? Should we be worried?”

Bruce hummed, face contemplative for a few moments as he obviously thought over what Steve had said. “I don't think we should be worried, per say,” he finally replied. “We don't know the full extent of the spell, after all. From observing him alone, it seems that Tony truly believes he's just a regular three year old. Maybe the spell clouds his vision? To him, he might very well look like a three year old, as well.

“As for the dreams? I'm not sure. The subconscious mind is a strange place, Steve, and powerful. With his body and conscious mind at rest, maybe the spell doesn't have to work so hard? His old thoughts could start to slip through, I suppose. I can do some tests when we get back, if you want, but I don't think there's anything to worry about, and I'm sure Thor will be back soon with the answer, anyway.”

Steve nodded, letting Bruce's conjecture roll around his head. It made sense, of course – most of the scientist's theories did – and he felt marginally better, knowing Tony wasn't in any kind of danger.

“He'll be all right, Steve,” the other man murmured, out of the blue, as he reached out to rest his hand against Steve's shoulder. At his questioning look, he went on, “We all see how you are with him; how you protect him; how he _clings_ to you... I just wanted you to know that we support you, and we're here if you ever need us.”

Oh. _Oh._ Looking down at the doctor's sincere expression, and the way he grasped his shoulder tightly, as if in support, Steve felt his face heat and his knees weaken a little. Was he really that obvious? Sure, he'd been spending a lot of time with Tony – and, yeah, maybe he spoiled the man a little – but had he really been that obvious in his affection that the whole team had noticed? Oh God.

“It's a crappy situation, Steve,” Bruce continued. “It's not your fault, and you really shouldn't feel guilty for -”

“Hey, Cap, Bruce!” Clint called, suddenly appearing down the corridor. Steve, honestly, was glad of the distraction. “Have you seen the news?”

“No, why?” he asked, frowning.

Clint was frowning by the time he reached them. “They know about Tony.”

\---

“ _\- with Thor reportedly seen leaving for his home-world, experts are turning to a far more pressing matter after today's Avengers vs. Doom battle: where is Iron Man? Reports suggest that the Iron Avenger – or Tony Stark, for that matter – hasn't been seen since the team's last battle with Loki, where the genius was hit with some kind of ray -”_

“This is bad,” Natasha sighed, leaning over the back of the couch where Steve was sitting to get a better look at the news on the TV. “They've pretty much outed him to every super villain in the world.”

Thank God, the reporters didn't seem to know that Tony had been specifically turned into a child – and if the press could see the way he was currently playing with the Lego set they'd bought him on the way back from the Helicarrier on the coffee table, they'd have a field day – but Steve agreed that putting information like this out there wasn't good at all.

“We're just going to have to be more careful with him,” he sighed, glancing down as Tony accidentally dropped his Lego Captain America figure (Clint had insisted on an Avengers set). “One of us will have to stay behind with him when we get the next call.”

“And send half a team out?” Natasha replied, scepticism heavy in her voice. “That's a bad idea. It'll just confirm that something is wrong.”

“Then what do you suggest?” he snapped, then lowered his head a little when Natasha rose her eyebrow at him. “We can't just leave him unprotected.”

“I wasn't suggesting we do,” she drawled. “I was suggesting drafting Rhodes in for babysitting duty instead of Happy. With Iron Patriot, or War Machine, or whatever he goes by these days there to protect him, Tony will be perfectly safe.”

That... actually made sense, Steve acquiesced. He still didn't like the idea of leaving Tony without one of the official Avengers as protection (him – he didn't like leaving Tony without _him_ to protect him) – because the man had a lot of enemies – but Rhodes was a fine substitute, and loved Tony like a brother, which was a bonus.

Anyone who liked Tony was a friend of Steve's.

“Okay,” he nodded, smiling down at Tony as he watched the man pretending to throw a Lego shield at a Lego Red Skull. “Yeah, that's a good idea.”

Natasha just rolled her eyes. “ Глупые, безумно влюбленный детей.”

Steve didn't even want to _know_ what that meant.

\---

True to his word, Bruce performed every scan and test under the sun to make sure Tony was perfectly safe, and – he would never admit it – Steve felt a whole lot better about everything when the results came back clear.

“I don't think we'll ever be totally sure of what's going on in his head,” the doctor sighed, opening a drawer and pulling out a lollypop for Tony, who was currently sniffling and pouting from where he sat on the examination table. Turned out the genius had a thing against being checked up – something that Steve had hoped he'd developed as he'd gotten older, but apparently not. “The problem is that there's no science to back any of this up. Sure, there have been freak cases of people banging their heads and finding they can suddenly speak French, or know pi to a thousand decimal places, but... this isn't science. Honestly, his brain is functioning the same as it was before he was changed. There's no cloak on it, no funny spikes. If I hadn't seen the footage of him being hit by the spell, I'd say we're looking at a completely healthy, unchanged Tony Stark.”

“Does that not, in itself, worry you?” Steve asked, picking up the sweet wrapper that Tony had torn from the lolly in his haste to cram it into his mouth. “Should there not be some evidence of the spell working?”

“Not necessarily,” Bruce replied, shaking his head. “We don't know enough about magic to know how this is supposed to work. For now, I'd focus on the fact that he's healthy and happy, and leave the rest to Thor.”

Steve nodded, letting out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. This was good news – Tony was perfectly all right (apart from having the mental age of a three year old), and, as long as the Avengers were still breathing, he would be kept safe until Thor could find a way to cure him.

_If_ Thor found a way to cure him.

“Okay, Bruce, thank you,” he replied, trying to crush that last thought down deep before it consumed his thoughts. “Come on, Tony, you're done. Do you want some dinner?”

“Pasketti?” Tony asked hopefully, lollypop still crammed in his mouth, “'n meatballs?”

“If you promise to be the bigger person and not flick sauce at Clint like last time,” he replied, and couldn't quite believe those words had left his mouth. His life was _strange._

“Promise!” Tony grinned, hopping off the table about as gracefully as a newborn horse. “Pasketti, Steve!”

“Fine,” he sighed, shooting Bruce one last, thankful look, before turning on his heel to head for the door. Unexpectedly, he felt a hand snake into his own and – when he glanced around – realised Tony was trailing along behind him, lollypop still taking up most of his attention, and gripping onto Steve's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He decided to ignore Bruce's fond laugh as they left the room.

\---

If it were possible, life seemed to fall into a... _routine_. It wasn't like Steve spent every second of the day with Tony, because he had other responsibilities, but he did spend a great deal of time with the genius. It was Steve who usually got the man up in a morning, after having already completed his morning workout (unless Tony had nightmares, and they ended up sharing a bed, because Steve found he couldn't force himself to get up any earlier than he had to in that instance), and – since he usually made breakfast for the whole team – he made Tony his favourite kind of eggs, French toast, and, in some cases, even managed to get some fruit into him.

On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Steve had work (mainly of the paper kind) to do at SHIELD, so he left Tony under the watchful eye of one of the other Avengers. On his days off, however, he sometimes tried to catch up on the things he had missed while he had been in the ice – and Tony was particularly helpful when it came to Disney movies, he'd found out very early on – and other times liked to sit in a secluded spot and sketch. It wasn't like he revolved his days around Tony, per say, but, rather... Tony always sought _him_ out.

A very small part of him liked that very much.

But, then, one day – about three weeks into Tony's regression – Steve sat for two whole hours, pretending to sketch while he was actually waiting for the brunet to show up, and he never did. Honestly, it was a little worrying.

“JARVIS?” he called, glancing up at the ceiling as the two and a half hour mark rolled around.

“ _Yes, Captain Rogers?”_

“What's Tony up to? He usually comes to find me.”

If Steve didn't know better, he would have said the AI _paused,_ before answering, _“Sir is currently in Doctor Banner's laboratory with Doctor Banner and Agent Barton.”_

And Steve was absolutely _not_ a little jealous that Tony had chosen the others over him. He had been the one who wanted a bit of space, for God's sake – he needed to get a grip on himself.

“He's okay, though, right?” he asked, because that was what mattered, really. “They're not getting up to too much trouble?”

JARVIS' pause, this time, was different to the last – more hesitant, as though he didn't quite know how to answer the question – and that... was very not good.

“JARVIS?” he asked again, slowly putting his sketchbook and pencil down. “What's going on?”

“ _Doctor Banner is currently taking care of the situation, Captain Rogers. When sir stops crying -”_

Steve was up and off the sofa before making the conscious decision to even move – sprinting over to the elevator and hitting the button for Bruce's lab much harder than was strictly necessary. Obviously sensing his panic, JARVIS sped the cart up so he arrived on the correct floor in no time. Keying in his pass code at the door, the first thing he noticed as he stepped inside were Tony's muffled cries, and Clint's muttering of, “Wasn't my fault – he should have been looking where he was going.”

“He has the mind of a three year old, Clint, and you got him excited. What were you expecting to happen?”

Following the sound of voices, Steve wandered through the lab until he finally spotted the top of Bruce's head over a mountainous stack of paper, and headed towards them. The sight he was met with, as he rounded the last obstacles, forced him to a shocked stop. Sat on the examination table – whole face flushed and wet from crying, and looking extraordinarily sorry for himself – Tony watched, sniffling, as Bruce appeared to be...

“Are you _setting his arm?”_ he asked, distantly aware of the slightly hysterical note to his voice.

“Shit,” Clint jumped, taking an automatic step backwards. “JARVIS, you traitor – you promised you wouldn't tell on me!”

“ _I simply announced your whereabouts when Captain Rogers asked, Agent Barton,”_ the AI drawled in reply.

“What did you _do_ , Clint?” Steve growled pacing quickly over to Tony without even a seconds thought when the man held out his free arm for him.

“We were just playing, Cap, honest!” the archer replied hastily. “Tony wanted to play tag, so I – being the responsible adult – decided that burning off some energy before nap time would be a good idea, but -”

“I tripped,” Tony mumbled, bottom lip quivering as he gripped the front of Steve's shirt with his good hand, “'n fell over duh coffee table.”

“ _Jesus,”_ Steve hissed, heart hammering in his chest as he fought between feeling irrationally angry and terrified that Tony could have been _killed._ Unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arms around the brunet's neck, and held the man's head against his chest. “Why wasn't I _told_ about this?”

“Because... I thought you'd be mad,” Clint muttered, looking down at his shoes. “It was an accident.”

“Of _course_ I'm mad! You're a fully grown, adult, for God's sake -”

“Steve,” Bruce cut him off softly, and Steve had to take a deep breath to try and rid himself of the sickening unease filling up his chest, “we know how much you... _care_ about Tony, and we didn't want you to worry, is all. It's not even a break – just a hairline fracture – and I've patched him up, good as new. You're fine now, aren't you, Tony?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony nodded against Steve's chest, taking a shaky breath. “It doesn' hurt as much no more, 'n Bruce said I could have a lolly f'bein' brave.”

“You certainly can,” the doctor nodded, smiling kindly, before turning back to Steve. “You see? There's no harm done. He'll have to wear a cast for about six weeks, and we'll have to watch him in the tub, but he's perfectly all right.”

“E-even still...” Steve stuttered, breath rattling in his chest as he let go of the pent up adrenaline and terror all at once, leaving his eyes watering and his skin feeling too tight around his bones. Before he could make a fool of himself any more by doing something stupid like bursting into tears, he buried his face in Tony's hair and used his calming scent to anchor himself.

“I'm... sorry, Cap,” Clint sighed, scuffing his foot against the floor guiltily. “I didn't mean for this to happen. It was only supposed to be a bit of fun, seeing how we can't really take him to the park, or whatever.”

Now Steve felt guilty, because he had been working so hard to make sure Tony was safe and secure in the Tower, that he hadn't even stopped to think about how bored the genius must be of being inside all the time, never mind the other Avengers.

“It's okay,” he replied, voice much steadier than he felt. “Let's just... be a little bit more careful next time, okay? Maybe move things out of the way if you're going to play active games.”

Tony nodded against his chest again, and Clint mumbled a quick agreement. Feeling more himself now he knew everything was all right, Steve ran one last, soothing hand through Tony's hair, then stepped away again.

“Right,” Bruce smiled, “now that's all sorted, how about we dig out that lolly for you, Tony -”

The Avengers' Alarm blared through the room before he could finish his sentence, and Steve felt his stomach churn with dread.

“Better go call Rhodes, then,” Clint grimaced.

\---

Once Rhodes had been successfully summoned for _babysitting duty_ , as Clint had dubbed it, they left Tony in his more than capable hands to go and suit up. From there, they all offered a quick goodbye, and then were off.

The mission, this time, took them way out to Washington DC for a series of unexpected, unpredictable terrorist bombings. As he read over the briefing file on the Quinjet as they made their way there, however, the situation began to seem more and more strange to Steve. For one, the target sites for the bombings held little to no population – abandoned warehouses, out-of-hours building sites – so there was some property damage, but minimal loss of life. In DC, for the serious terrorist, there were _so_ many more important places to potentially bomb. Secondly... he frowned, tapping his tablet screen to zoom in on one of the many CCTV photos SHIELD had sent over.

“Hey, Tasha?” he called, glancing over to the cockpit where she was riding shotgun. “Take a look at this for me?”

Shrugging, she nodded, sliding out of her seat to pad over to him and sit down. Silently, he handed her the tablet with the enhanced image on, tapping the symbol he'd noticed on one of the bomber's arms as the point of reference. “What's that? I feel like I've seen it before.”

“You have,” Natasha sighed, a pinched expression on her face, “in Tony's file. That's the symbol of a terrorist cell known as the Ten Rings, but... as far as we know, they were disbanded after Tony and Pepper took out their leader, Aldrich Killian.”

“Well, obviously not,” he frowned, taking the tablet back when it was offered. “You think they're just footmen trying to keep the idea alive?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged again.

“Either way, they're not doing a particularly good job,” Clint called from the pilot's seat, having obviously overheard. “What group of self respecting villains goes to DC and doesn't make a move on the White House or Pentagon?”

“I was thinking that, too,” Steve hummed, looking over the pictures again. He felt like he was missing something – something big.

“It _is_ a little suspicious, don't you think?” Bruce agreed, adjusting his glasses from his seat on the other side of the plane. “What did they hit, again? Two empty warehouse spaces, a construction site and a school? It's the weekend, for God's sake – they must have known nobody would be in those places – so what's the point? They didn't even hit places close to the centre of the city; it's almost like -”

“It's a trap,” Steve finished for him, a sense of sick dread washing over him. “It's a _trap!_ They wanted us to go after them; they wanted us out of the way!”

“For what -?”

“ _Avengers, come in!”_

They all – even Natasha – jumped a little in surprise when James Rhodes' panicked voice tuned in over their comms. Immediately, Steve's heart flew into his throat.

“Good afternoon,” Clint drawled into his comm, “and welcome to the good ship Avenger – this is your archer speaking. How can we help you today -?”

“Not _now_ , Hawkeye!” Steve snapped, sinking quickly into Captain mode. The background noise on his comm – heavy crashes and screaming – was very worrying. “Rhodes? Status, now.”

“ _It's a trap,”_ the other man confirmed, breathing heavy over the line. “ _It's a trap – they're trying to get you out of the way. I don't know how he survived, it's crazy, but... it's the Mandarin, Cap, and he's come for Tony.”_

Swallowing back the urge to vomit, Steve found himself suddenly filled with a restless energy that took him out of his seat and over to stand behind Clint. His team-mates' expressions were varied, from grim understanding to downright fear.

“Are you... how can you be sure it's him?” he asked, hating how his voice shook. “Rhodes? How can you be sure -?”

“ _There's... I don't know how he's doing it, but there's a motherfucking_ dragon _made out of rocks and debris that he seems to be controlling – I can't get a good look; there's too many people around and too much shit in the air. He's... it's him, Cap. He's dressed like that dude Trevor Slattery, but it's not -”_

“ _Steeb!”_

Suddenly, the line cut off. Head whipping around, Steve looked at the other members of his team, the quickly increasing urge to panic settling, vice-like, against his chest. That voice – the last one – had been Tony's.

And he sounded terrified.

Mindset shifting, he took a deep breath to steady himself. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice of the Captain. “We're going back.”

\---

The tower was in ruins. A smoking hole had been left in the side, and what belongings of theirs that hadn't been immediately incinerated were now strewn across the dusty, bloody street below. Steve stared, horrified, at how his bed was hanging off the edge of his floor, some sixty floors up.

Tony had been in that bed this morning, giggling at Steve to stop tickling him.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he led the team past the line of emergency service vehicles – the occupants of which were desperately trying to restore some kind of order – and closer to the front of the tower. Noticing it immediately, over all else, Steve bent down to pick up the picture of himself and Tony that the genius had been colouring on the first day of his mental regression. It was charred, now.

Whatever, or whoever, had done this, they were immeasurably powerful. They were also going to feel every inch of Steve's anger when he caught them, because _nobody_ destroyed his home – terrified his... best friend – and got away with it.

“Cap!”

Swivelling on the spot, he saw James Rhodes limping towards him. The man was a mess – face swollen and clothes bloody, with his left arm wrapped protectively around his ribs as he hunched in on himself. He looked thoroughly defeated.

“Colonel,” Steve replied, trying not to look too eager for news in front of one of Tony's oldest, dearest friends. “You're not looking too great. Where's Tony?”

For a second, thoughts of Tony sat in the back of one of those ambulances – bloody and crying – flitted across his mind, and he shivered a little. But, then, one look at Rhodes' face, and bile began to rise in his throat again, because the man looked _devastated._

“They... you have to understand, Steve, that I was completely outnumbered. He had his posse with him, and that goddamn dragon, and -”

“Rhodes,” Steve snarled, taking a step forwards. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“He took Tony,” the other man sighed, rubbing a hand across his bruised, weary face. “Right from out of my hands, man. It's not even the same guy – it's not Killian, or Slattery. This... I don't know _who_ this guy is -”

Steve let the rest of Rhodes' words wash over him, not really paying attention, because Tony had been _taken._ He had trusted War Machine to protect him, when the team had told Steve that he couldn't do it instead. He had _trusted_ the man -

“You let them take him,” he whispered, staring at the drawing in his hands, and distantly heard Rhodes come to a stop.

“I didn't do it on -”

“You _let them take him from you,”_ he spat, paper crumpling in his hand as his head snapped up – white hot rage blazing through him. “You were supposed to _protect him -”_

“Whoa, Cap, just... just calm down, all right -”

Steve had Rhodes up and off the ground by the front of his shirt in a matter of seconds, body physically shaking with pent up rage and terror. “ _Calm down?”_ he screamed hysterically. “You want me to _calm down_ when the love of my life is -”

He stopped, realised his mistake – realised what he had just said. In front of him, Rhodes' eyes were wide and wary; his hands were scrabbling against Steve's to let him go. Worse, though, was the surprised, but _compassionate_ expression on his face.

“We'll get him back, Cap,” the man whispered sincerely. “I'm sorry, all right? I didn't know – I didn't know that's how you felt, I -”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Steve forced his hands open slowly and lowered Rhodes back onto the floor. After another deep breath, he felt balanced enough to glance around him. There wasn't a person around who didn't seem to be staring at them – including reporters – so that was... great.

“Do you know where they took him?” he asked, forcing himself to stay calm. “Did they leave any clues, did they -”

“ _Captain.”_ Suddenly, Nick Fury's voice, of all people, was in his ear. “ _You're going to want to see this.”_

\---

The tape currently projecting on the SHIELD screen held none of the grandeur of Trevor Slattery's, Steve decided as he watched on in horror. The footage was grainy – obviously from some kind of low budget, hand-held camera – and the room in shot was damp and bare.

“ _My imitators seemed much more interested in spectacle than I_ ,” a voice echoed from nowhere. “ _I can assure you, there will be none of that today. I am here, simply, to offer an extended invitation to the Avengers.”_

A man appeared on screen, then – black hair slicked back, and dressed in a simple, dark suit. He would have been handsome, even, if not for the malevolent smile on his face, and look in his eyes.

“ _I have taken something of yours,”_ he continued, folding his hands together against his chest. A strange, extravagant ring adorned each and every finger. _“If you wish to get him back, all you need do is take him back from me.”_

Then, there was a banging noise – a door slamming open, Steve thought – and his breath caught in his throat as he heard the distinct, snuffly cries of one Tony Stark.

“ _No, no, don' wanna, please – where we goin' -”_

Heart in the pit of his stomach, Steve watched, horrified, as two men dragged Tony into the shot. He didn't look too worse for wear, thank God, but his eyes were wide and brimming with terrified tears, and the sight damn well near broke Steve's heart.

“ _I am the Mandarin,”_ the same man spoke, maniacal grin spreading across his face. “ _I have taken my revenge on those who have slighted me. In seventy two hours, Tony Stark will join them in death. Take him from me if you dare.”_

With that, the connection cut, and the screen went black. For a few, tense seconds, nobody in the room spoke a single word.

“I don't understand his motives,” Bruce finally sighed, breaking the silence. “He acts as though Tony wronged him – and, hey, he disrespected his fake self, so maybe he's taken offence, too – but if he wanted revenge, surely he'd just kill him without sending that warning tape? What was the point of telling us he's going to kill him?”

“There were no terms for his release – nothing he wanted from us,” Natasha added, stepping out of the shadows at the back of the room. “It's like he thinks it's a game – hide and seek.”

“Did he even corrupt the file, or could we trace where that was sent from?” Clint asked of Fury.

“We're tracing as we speak,” the director confirmed.

“Well, see, _that's_ not totally suspicious at all,” the archer rolled his eyes. “It's a trap, right? It's obviously another trap. He just wants us all out of the way so he can go about with whatever dastardly deeds he's got planned, and he's using Tony as a scapegoat to get to us.”

“We're under that impression, yes,” Fury nodded. “That's why – until we have further information on the situation – we won't be deploying any of you to go after them.”

“Are you... can you _hear_ yourselves?” Steve blurted out incredulously, simply unable to keep his mouth shut any longer. “Tony has been _kidnapped_! God knows what they're going to do to him; they could be torturing him right now, and you're saying we _shouldn't_ go after him? After that psychopath gave him seventy two hours to live?”

“Captain,” Fury replied, eyebrows raised, “you know, better than most, the importance of a tactical advantage. Running head first into an obvious trap isn't going to help anyone.”

“But now we know it's a trap, we can plan around that – hit him where it hurts -”

“This isn't up for discussion,” the director snapped. “You will all stay here and wait until we have more information!”

“And if I refuse?”

Suddenly, all the air seemed to have left the room. Quickly, and quietly, Bruce excused himself before things became too heated, but Steve was too busy staring Fury down to really notice.

“I am your commanding officer, Captain,” Fury snarled, voice quiet and low. “You will know your place. I forbid you from leaving this base without my express consent.”

“Oh, you forbid it? Okay,” Steve nodded amicably. “Then I quit.”

“ _What?”_ Clint screeched, very nearly falling out of his seat as he whipped round. Steve was already moving, though – planning even as he walked, and ignoring the sudden burst of yelling and arguing coming from behind him.

“JARVIS?” he called into his comm. “Have the coordinates downloaded to one of the Quinjet's GPS systems, and get Colonel Rhodes on the phone for me.”

“ _Certainly, Captain,”_ the AI replied with gusto.

\---

“I could get into a lot of trouble for this, you know,” Rhodes drawled from the pilot's seat, seeming completely unworried by the whole experience. “I still work for the government, after all. Just because you decide to go all badass and defect doesn't mean you have to take me down with you -”

“I'm sure this is a horrible hardship for you,” Steve replied, focused on the view out of the window.

“Not really,” the other man shrugged, grinning. “Saving Tony's ass is kind of my thing – getting to do it next to Captain America is just a bonus. Worth losing my job over, actually.”

“Well, if you do lose your job, there's a place on the Avengers for you,” he retorted mildly, smiling a little when Rhodes made a spluttering noise. “Not that I technically work for them anymore.”

“Please,” Rhodes scoffed. “Like they'd ever _actually_ let you quit. You're in for life, now, pal.”

Steve hummed, because the truth was, Rhodes was right. He didn't know how he felt, knowing Fury had put up a fight, and then let him go anyway. Wishful thinking led him to believe that the man was just relaying orders, but actually cared for Tony's wellbeing as much as the rest of them did. Worst case scenario – he didn't really care if any of them died.

“So...” Rhodes continued, his tone almost a little awkward now. “You, uh... you've been feeling some things for my boy, huh?”

Despite the blush that he felt quickly creeping up his neck, Steve set his jaw and finally turned to face the other man. “Is that a problem?”

“Problem? Cap, I've known Tony for twenty odd years – you really think you'd be the first guy to -” He paused – seemed to realise where that conversation had been going – and backtracked quickly. “So... that may have come out a little more sleazy than I intended. Tony's great, y'know, and I love the guy to death, but... he's a little screwy, sometimes. All I'm saying is that he can be a lot to handle, and he needs someone who's not going to wake up one morning and realise they can't do it.”

“Is this... are you giving me the _shovel speech?”_ Steve asked, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“Yeah, believe me, I never thought I'd have to give Captain America one of these, either, but stick with me,” Rhodes continued. “Just... know what you're getting yourself into, okay? Sure, Tony can and has slutted it around -” Steve made a little noise of protest, “- but when he loves someone – really loves and cares about someone – he gives them all that he is, and that leaves a guy vulnerable.

“So,” he concluded, flashing Steve a grin, “let's just leave it at 'if you break his heart, I put on the suit and break your legs', okay?”

“I... don't really think Tony feels the -”

“ _Okay?”_ Rhodes asked again, more forcefully this time.

“Okay, Colonel,” Steve acquiesced, raising his arms defensively.

“Rhodey's fine,” the other man replied, grinning as he stuck his hand out for Steve to take, and he felt a little like he did after a conversation with Tony – as though he had just been through a hurricane and lived to tell the tale.

No wonder they were friends.

Reaching out to take the man's hand, he couldn't help but smile fondly. “Call me Steve.”

\---

For the rest of the journey, they planned their attack. Steve pulled up some information on the Chinese location where the tape had originated, but – apart from a few folk tales about the mountain actually being a dragon – he couldn't find much on the Flaming Mountain. He _did_ , however, find some blueprints of small tunnels and caves inside the place, thanks to JARVIS' extremely helpful hack of SHIELD servers. The prints dated back to the eighties, which was when the last expedition group went out to properly explore, so some of the caves and tunnels could have caved in, but it was a start.

With that information, the rest of the plan came easy. Rhodey would try to get him as close to the mountain as possible, and then use the Quinjet's scanners to seek out heat signatures from within the mountain. It would have been easier for them if Tony still had his Arc Reactor, because it made his heat signature noticeably colder than most peoples', but – as it was – Steve was going to have to guesstimate where the genius was based on how many other heat signatures were in the immediate area. On the tape, there had only been three other people with Tony – the Mandarin and two Ten Ring members – so it was a safe bet to think that he would still be being guarded by similar numbers.

“All right, Cap, I don't know if he's got some kind of freaky magic shit going on that can detect us, but – sight wise – it's probably best I set us down in the valley,” Rhodey told him as the approached the site. Honestly, it was beautiful, and – if they were in any other situation – Steve would have loved to stop and draw the rusty mountain. As it was, though, they had a job to do, so Rhodey steered them downwards to the tree-filled valley at the base of the mountain, and touched down expertly.

“All right, scanning... now,” the colonel told him, hitting a few buttons on the Quinjet's dashboard. Immediately, the front windows went into HUD mode – scanning the mountain and plotting heat signatures on the blueprints Steve had thrown up there. From what he could tell, there was quite a heavy concentration of people in the centre of the mountain, and a few further down. At the top of the mountain, though, there was a heat signature so large and blazing hot that it glowed a bright, brilliant white.

“Think that's the Mandarin?” he asked, pointing. If the man was using magic of some kind, it only made sense.

“Probably,” Rhodey nodded, leaning in a little, “so the top entrance is out. Looks like they're keeping Tony down here,” he pointed to the little cluster of three heat signatures near the base of the mountain. “It's convenient, really – means you don't have to climb the whole damn mountain.”

Steve hummed in agreement, leaning over to grab his shield where it rested against the back of his seat. “So the river entrance is probably best, right? I go in, climb my way up, alert as little people as possible, grab Tony, and get out.”

“Meanwhile, I'll be out here, making noise and generally distracting everyone else, yeah,” Rhodey nodded, getting out of his seat and heading over to the suitcase War Machine suit Tony had finished for him just before his accident.

“Give me three hours,” Steve told him, slinging his shield onto his back as he stood up. “If we're not out by then, you should probably think about calling for backup.”

“Man, Fury's going to _love_ getting that call,” the other man snorted, letting the suit quickly assemble around him, but keeping the faceplate down.

“At this point, I'd rather suffer a little hubris and have everyone make it out okay,” he replied, pulling his helmet over his head. “You ready?”

“Born ready, Cap,” he nodded, before the faceplate slid down. “Let's do this.”

With a nod, Steve pulled the exit latch, then jogged down the ramp – with Rhodey on his heels – and into the dense flora. If his sense of direction was right (and it was), he needed to head down the slope in front of him to the river at the valley's base, then follow it upstream for about a mile to come to a small, discreet cave entrance set into the mountainside.

“I'll see you on the other side,” Rhodey called, offering up a little wave, before he headed off in the other direction – no doubt to start making noise up at the highest entrance they had found on the map.

“Be careful!” Steve called after him, before setting off down the slope at a fast jog. Sliding the last few feet, he used his momentum to hop straight over the stream at the bottom, then set off running upstream on the opposite bank – always keeping the base of the mountain at his left shoulder.

It was slow going, working his way around the trees and bushes, but he managed to find the heavily overgrown cave entrance in around ten minutes. The distant sound of gunfire acting as his cue, he slipped inside – eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness – and started down the narrow tunnel. He had read in his initial research that the Flaming Mountain was something of a tourist attraction, but – whether it was to do with the setting sun, or the time of year – there had, thankfully, been no-one around. He was under the impression that not a lot of tourists would trek down this far, anyway.

After a few moments of shuffling along in the dark, he came to a dead end, and frowned. Tugging a pocket torch out of one of his belt's pouches, he clicked it on – blinking to clear his vision at the onslaught of sudden light – and then shined it around him, looking for somewhere to go. As far as he could tell, there was nowhere to turn left or right, and the wall in front of him was a complete, curved groove, too, so... looking up, he grinned. The passage continued upwards, it seemed.

Sticking the torch into his mouth, he tightened the straps on his shield around his shoulders, then crouched down and _sprang_ upwards – hand catching on a groove in the rock that he then used to pull himself up. Honestly, climbing without a rope had never been his thing – even with the serum – but he did his best with what he had, and used other grooves and dig-outs to, slowly but surely, pull himself up the tunnel.

The further he climbed, the more aware he became that there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel, staining the slightly damp walls a soft yellow. Redoubling his efforts, he pushed himself harder – climbed faster – and made it to the top in no time. Peeking his head up over the lip of the chute carefully – to gather where he was and how many people were around him – he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled himself completely up and out when he realised he was in an almost completely blocked off room, with no-one in sight.

Not stopping to catch his breath, he crept over to the crack in the wall that was spilling light into the room – the width of which was just about big enough to fit a grown man if he edged along on his side – and peered through. Pausing, he watched as two guards marched past, each holding an AK-47 rifle. When they had both successfully passed out of sight, he quickly – but cautiously – slid into the crack and shuffled forwards, chest pressed to the wall as he moved so the shield wouldn't catch and made a noise on his back.

When he was sure the guards weren't heading back in his direction, he peered out of the other side of the crevice and looked around. There were a number of doors built into the rocks along this passage – the first sign of human intervention he had seen since entering the cave – and he guessed that Tony was inside one of them. If he wanted to get to him, however, his best bet was to get the patrolling guards out of the way _beforehand_ , because – and his stomach clenched just at the thought – he didn't know what condition he was going to find the genius in, and he couldn't very well protect them both if he had to carry him _and_ fight off the guards.

A single, well aimed shot of his shield should do it. If he timed it right, they'd have their backs to him anyway, and therefore wouldn't even see his face. Quick, easy, simple.

Waiting silently until they passed back by the crack again – and, really, he lamented, if he had been in the possession of a mountain full of tunnels, checking for cracks would have been one of the first things he did – he quickly darted out of his hiding place and sent his shield flying. It hit first one, then the other man, and they went down without even a sound as the shield came boomeranging back to him.

“Tony?” he called cautiously, once he had moved forwards to make sure the men were definitely out cold, and to kick their weapons away. No noise came from any of the doors – the tops of which had a medieval style window with bars – so, quietly, he moved towards the first one and peered inside.

No dice.

The harder he listened, though, the more aware he became of a heartbreakingly familiar sniffling noise coming from nearby, so – following his ears with his heart beating rapidly in his chest – he moved onto the next door and peered inside.

“Tony?” he called into the dark of the room, and the sniffling sound paused for a moment.

“Steve?”

A relieved cry of joy left his mouth before he could stop himself, because Tony slid out of the shadows like a terrified cat – eyes red raw and nose running terribly. The door was locked when he tried it, of course, so he brought the shield down on the handle a few times until the whole mechanism snapped and clattered to the ground; the door swung open.

“God, Tony,” he breathed, throwing his arms around the man and hugging him close when he came running. “You worried me sick. Are you okay – did they hurt you?”

Tony, it seemed, wasn't capable of answering questions. Instead, he just shook in Steve's arms, repeating, “Steve, Steve, Steve,” over and over again.

“It's all right, Tony,” he soothed, hugging the man closer still. “I've got you. We're going home, okay, but I need you to be quiet and follow me.”

“Like a secret mission?” Tony asked, looking up at him. “Like 'venger stuff?”

“Yeah, Tony, exactly like that,” Steve nodded. “I'm Captain America, and you can be my partner, Iron Man. Can you do that, Iron Man?”

Tony nodded vigorously, a small smile splitting his tear-stricken face. Steve smiled back despite the fact that his heart was still hammering in his chest, and immediately gave in to the urge to kiss the brunet's forehead. Tony leaned into the contact – obviously still afraid, even though he was trying to be brave – and let a sigh leave his lips.

“All right,” Steve whispered, allowing himself just one more second of holding the genius in his arms, before stepping back. “Let's get you out of here, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony nodded, then followed Steve when he ran back out of the cell, across the corridor and over to the crack in the wall.

“You first, Iron Man,” he told him, stepping back to let Tony slide through the gap, and then – glancing back to make sure the guards were still out cold – he followed.

He couldn't believe it had been so easy, as they made it into the hidden room and then – after helping Tony down – back into the tunnel that would lead them straight out. It was almost too easy, really. Either the Mandarin hadn't thought it through when he decided to put his prisoners so close to the base of the mountain, or he hadn't realised there was a hidden tunnel, or -

“Good evening, Captain.”

Steve was just quick enough to whip round and spot a number of brightly coloured rings before they collided with his head and the world went dark.

\---

Steve awoke with a sharp gasp – icy cold water spilling down his face and into his nose – and he spluttered for a moment, confused. When he tried to move his arms to wipe the water from his face, he realised that they were strapped to whatever surface it was that he was lying on, and – worse – he couldn't seem to break free of his bonds.

This was very not good.

“So nice of you to rejoin me, Captain,” came a familiar voice from nearby. Leaning up as much as his bindings would allow him – and he realised he was strapped to some kind of cold, metal table – Steve's eyes flew around the pitch black cave he was now in until his eyes landed on the Mandarin nearby. “You have been unconscious for some time.”

“Where's Tony?” were the first words out of his mouth, even though it took a lot of energy and caused his brain to throb against the inside of his skull. Jesus, the guy had done a number on him. “If you've hurt him, I swear to God -”

“What could I possibly want with an imbecile like him?” the Mandarin snapped, and Steve stilled, because _what?_

“You... you were going to kill him,” he replied, thoughts and theories beginning to swirl around his aching head. “On the tape, you said -”

“I said only what you wanted to hear.”

And that was... _wow_ , Steve had been stupid – stupider, even, than Fury had thought he was being. This man – the Mandarin – was a lot smarter than anyone had given him credit for. He'd been so clever, in fact, that he'd used Tony as bait to get him here, it seemed.

“Why?” he asked, because that was the most important question, really, wasn't it? “This was a ploy to get me here, right? Why?”

“Oh, bravo, Captain,” the Mandarin smiled, but it looked strange on his face. “Of course, this isn't what I had initially planned, but, yes, my interest lies in you.”

“ _Why?”_ Steve repeated, spittle spraying from his mouth in his passion. “ _Where is he?_ ”

“I want only what everyone wants from you, Captain,” was the almost vindictive reply. “The serum running through your veins.”

Of course he did. Of _course_ he did, and Steve had been so single minded – had let tunnel vision blur the facts around him – that he had walked straight into the man's trap, regardless of the warnings not to.

“I admit, my first thought, in taking Tony Stark, was that he would be able to give me the information I seek,” the man continued. “He is an intelligent man – something I can admire, regardless of circumstance – and he works closely with you. I had thought, with the right incentive, he would give up that information to me.

“The _asinine_ creature my men gifted me, however, was not worth a second of my time. I had assumed, when the media reported on his recent withdrawal from public life, that he was simply injured in one of your battles, and therefore an easier target.”

“Is that why you drew us away to DC?” Steve asked, pieces of the puzzle settling into place.

“Essentially,” the Mandarin confirmed. “And if you were captured in the process, all the better. It became apparent very early on that our dear Iron Man would be of no use to me, however, and I realised I would have to turn to you directly. That is where the tape came in.”

“So he was never going to die? You -”

“Oh, I never said that,” Steve was cut off, and the admission caused his heart to jump into his throat. “Once I had you, I would have had no use for him. He was still involved in that whole mess with my impersonator, after all. He dishonoured me to the highest -”

“He _stopped_ Killian!” Steve snapped, panic rising in him again, because the man still wasn't telling him where Tony was. “ _Where. Is. He?”_

“Somewhere in the valley, I should think,” the Mandarin sneered, face pinched in annoyance. “It seems, even with the mind of an invalid, he has common sense, for he ran as soon as I appeared. Do not worry, though, dear Captain – my men are out there right now, hunting him like the dog he is -”

Steve screamed aloud in rage, jerking forwards as hard as he could to try and break his bonds and choke the man with his bare hands. It was worth it, though, a distant part of his mind kept telling him. If something happened to him here – because, no matter what he did, he couldn't break out of his bonds – then it would all be worth it, if Tony was safe. No matter what the Mandarin said, he knew that Rhodey would get to the brunet in time – knew that they'd make it back to the Quinjet and call for backup.

Knew that, whether he made it out alive or not, the Avengers would make sure the Mandarin wouldn't get away with the serum.

“Tony Stark is twice the man you'll ever be,” he spat. “You've been doing what, exactly? Hiding in the shadows, letting other people do your work for you? No wonder Killian tried to imitate you – he obviously didn't think you actually existed! You're a _story_ , Mandarin, and nothing more. You think your followers will still be here when my team realises I'm gone and comes for me? You think -”

“Do you think I'm not prepared for that eventuality?”

Steve paused, because... well, no, he hadn't. The tight, goading smile the Mandarin flashed at him made him feel like he was part of some sick, sycophantic game, and immediately set him more ill at ease than he already had been. Something wasn't right about this – something more than the obvious, at least.

“But enough talking for now, I think,” the man continued, smile still in place as he waved a hand inconsequently through the air. As he did, though, Steve caught sight of one of the rings adorning his fingers – the one on his right pinky, with four little black-blue gems arranged into a square on it – begin to flicker, glow for a moment, and then go out. It was at that time that... well, there were no actual _lights_ in the cave, but... the whole room seemed to get brighter with natural light from cracks that he had previously not seen in the walls.

Storing that information away for later – because the idea of magic had been playing at the back of his mind ever since Rhodey had described the debris dragon that had attacked the tower, and even more so since he had seen the man's energy spikes back on the Quinjet – he glanced around the room, taking stock of things that could be used as potential weapons or an exit. The Avengers might be coming, after all, but that didn't mean he was going to rely on them.

“I am actually quite aware that your little friends will be on their way, so why don't we get started?” The Mandarin took a step to the side, bringing into focus the small, metallic table full of medical supplies that had, previously, been out of Steve's sight.

“I'd, personally, prefer if we didn't,” he replied, eyeing up some of the instruments warily. “I'm not convinced you're a qualified medical doctor.”

“You have spirit, Captain, I'll give you that,” the Mandarin chuckled, before bringing both hands together repeatedly in a strange, off-rhythmic clap. Moments later, a man with a shaved head and the Ten Rings' insignia tattooed on his muscular arm appeared (so there was at least one exit, Steve noted), covering his malicious grin with a medical mask. “I, of course, may not be a medical doctor, but my friend here is. He will take good care of you.”

“Fuck you!” Steve growled, beginning to jerk against his chains again, because he had thought he'd be able to buy more time than this. He couldn't let them have the serum – not when he didn't know how long the experiments were going to take, and how far out the Avengers were. “Get away from me!”

He made sure not to panic, because he'd be of no use to anyone if that happened, but did thrash harder on the table as the doctor drew closer to him – having examined the tools on the medical trolley, and deciding to start by drawing some blood, if the empty needle he picked up was anything to go by.

“Do not worry, Captain,” the Mandarin told him. “It will only hurt if you struggle -”

But then, inexplicably, an explosive rumble came from above them, shaking the walls and sending bits of dust and debris raining down. The cart of medical supplies rattled in warning, but didn't quite fall, and both the Mandarin and his conspirator staggered a little in shock. Steve, however, just smiled.

“That'll be my ride, then.”

The Mandarin snapped something to the other man in what Steve thought was Arabic, and then swiftly turned and headed towards the darkness hovering around the corners of the room. “I at least want a sample of his blood, you hear me?” came out in English, before he disappeared into the dark. As soon as the man was out of sight, Steve felt the strangest sense of weightlessness for a few seconds, before realising that, actually, it wasn't weightlessness, simply an invisible weight being lifted from him.

Had... had the Mandarin been using magic to keep him from slipping his bonds? The way the metal around his wrist groaned and bent in protest when he gave an experimental tug made him believe so. It didn't matter now, though – he had a way out, and a quickly forming plan, and he was going to take it.

“I would really, _really_ take a second to reconsider what you're about to do,” he told the doctor firmly, but the man just gave him a confused look. He obviously didn't speak English, then – if anything, Steve felt a little sorry for him, and the fact that he didn't know what was coming. “Can't say I didn't warn you.”

When the man drew near enough to be within reaching distance, Steve gave one, mighty tug on his shackles, and they quickly snapped and fell away. The doctor cried out in surprise and lunged forwards – obviously still trying to get a sample of his blood – but Steve was faster, and snapped the guy's wrist before he had a chance to get the needle even close to him.

“Yadee!” the man screamed in his foreign tongue, immediately dropping the needle as he clutched his wrist to his chest. He staggered backwards – obviously horrified – and fell straight over the supplies trolley to land in a heap on the ground.

He didn't get up again.

Letting out a sigh of relief – because that had been _too close_ – Steve sat up on the table and stretched his arms, before leaning forward to tear the shackles from his ankles, too. That done, he took a moment to steady himself as he slid onto his feet, and then set off. Thank God, his shield was propped up in a shadow beside the door, otherwise he didn't know where he would have even started looking for the thing. It felt good to have it back on his arm, even after such a short time apart, but he had no time to bask in that fact – he had to find the others, find the Mandarin, and finish this.

“War Machine, come in?” he tapped his comm, but got only static in response. “War Machine?”

Great – looked like he was on his own.

Not really knowing where he was, but assuming he was still in one of the lower level cave systems, he yanked the door open and immediately sent his shield flying at the two guards standing in the corridor outside. They went down without much of a fuss, and he made sure to grab one of the AK-47s that fell from their grasp this time, just in case. Then – shield set on one arm, and gun aimed in front of him in the other – he set off down the tunnel.

The Mandarin, it seemed, was long gone, but that didn't matter, because he soon found another dead end with the tunnel continuing upwards, so – strapping his shield to his back quickly, and slinging the gun's strap over one shoulder – he jumped and began to climb again. Unlike the last vertical tunnel, this one curved and rounded out until it was horizontal again, and opened up wide and tall enough for him to stand. Keeping a mental note of his route so far, he continued down the tunnel until he – once again – saw a light at the end of it. As he got closer, he realised why.

The tunnel, it appeared, was set high into the wall of a huge, open, cavernous space. As quietly as he could, Steve edged towards the lip of the tunnel and peered down into the cave below, grinning when he saw that the Avengers had, indeed, arrived, and were currently working their way through the hoards of Ten Ring members.

Even Sam Wilson had been called in as backup.

Itching to join the fight and end this quickly, Steve fiddled with his helmet until he was tuned into the right comm. link, then – hoping the technology worked this time, seeing how the others were so close – said, “Avengers? Come in.”

“ _Cap!_ ” Clint laughed immediately, and Steve watched as the archer hopped across a couple of stalagmites in order to shoot two bad guys at once. “ _Man, it's good to hear your voice. Where are you?_ ”

“Above you,” he replied, signalling at Sam as he circled past in the air. “What's the situation?”

“ _War Machine called us in when you didn't reappear after three hours,”_ Natasha told him. “ _He's with Tony in the Quinjet right now.”_

Despite his forced optimism, Steve still couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at hearing that the genius was safe.

“ _Now you're here, all we need to do is take out these guys, then get out of here,”_ Clint added.

“And the Mandarin?” Steve asked.

“ _Haven't seen hide nor hair of him, Cap,”_ Sam replied, swooping in to pluck him off his perch on his next circle of the room. _“It's nice to see you again, by the way.”_

“You, too,” he called back. “Now drop me down next to Widow and go help Hawkeye, okay?”

“ _Still so bossy,”_ the man whispered into his comm, and Steve heard Clint laugh.

“Chatter,” he reminded them good-naturedly, falling into a roll as Sam dropped him a few feet from Natasha. He lost his gun in the process, but it didn't matter – his shield was all he needed.

Together, they managed to work their way through the Ten Ring soldiers without too much trouble – systematically dodging bullets and cracking skulls as the Hulk danced around them and generally had a good time – until the remaining few laid down their weapons and all but begged for their lives. Of course, in the interim, Steve had managed to catch a few bullets in the side that he was sure were going to be a bit of a problem when the adrenaline wore off, but – for now – he could deal.

“You okay?” Natasha asked him anyway as Clint and Sam went around zip-tying the remaining Ten Ring soldiers' hands behind their backs, and a newly-changed-back Bruce not-so-discreetly stole one a pair of pants from one of them.

“It won't kill me,” he replied, pressing a hand over the wound. It was barely even bleeding now. “I don't get why the Mandarin would just disappear, though. He told his man to get a sample of my blood. Why would he do that if he was just going to disappear without it?”

“Did the guy get a sample of your blood?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Then the Mandarin probably thought he would, and would bring it to him,” she shrugged. “Villains' minds work in strange ways.”

“I suppose,” he sighed, even though he didn't quite believe it. The Mandarin was much more intelligent than any of them had given him credit for, so was Steve supposed to believe that he had just bailed without seeing his plan through? It just didn't make sense.

“All right, Cap, I'd say we're pretty much done here,” Clint called, momentarily cutting off his thoughts. “These guys aren't going _anywhere_ until SHIELD evac. decides to drop by and take them in. Can we go home now?”

“Yes, I'd rather like some pants that actually fit,” Bruce chipped in wearily, holding his pants up at the waist. “And you need to get that side seen to before the wounds close with the bullets still inside you.”

“Fine,” Steve nodded, honestly glad that the whole ordeal was over. “Let's move out.”

He followed at the back of their little group as Clint and Sam – who seemed to be getting on swimmingly, as it happened – led them over to yet another tunnel entrance set into the far wall. This one had obviously been chipped away at to make it bigger for everyday use, and sunlight assaulted his eyes only a few, short metres into it.

“How did you guys even get up here?” he asked once they got to the mouth of the cave. Peering down, he realised there was at least a fifty foot drop to the valley below.

“Me and Hulk gave them rides,” Sam replied with a grin, throwing his arms out so his wings had enough room to expand. “Looks like the return trip is on me.”

“Please,” Clint rolled his eyes, drawing three arrows from his quiver and quickly shooting them into the solid rock beneath their feet. Leaning forwards, he tugged at the fletchings, and drew from the end of each of the arrows a line of thin, strong looking rope. “Tony developed these little babies. I've got us covered.”

Sam shrugged good-naturedly, and offered his hand to Bruce, who gladly took it and latched on to the man's middle. “Guess we'll see you down there, then.” Grinning – and with Bruce letting out a whoop of surprise – he flipped backwards into the air without another word.

“Is it really a good idea to surprise Bruce like that?” Steve asked warily, peering over the lip of the cave again.

“He doesn't seem to have a problem with it,” Natasha shrugged, smiling as the Doctor's carefree laughter drifted back to them on the breeze. “Shall we?”

Clint offered her the end of one of the lengths of rope – the other ends of which were still firmly attached to the arrows – and she tied it to her belt. Clint offered Steve the end of another rope, and he followed her lead. When they were all ready, Clint was the first to throw himself off the side of the mountain, and – glancing only once at Natasha for confirmation that this wouldn't kill them – Steve followed suit. He found, once he was actually making his way down, that the arrows let rope out in increments, meaning he didn't so much plummet to the ground, but... abseil, really.

Sam and Bruce met them at the base of the mountain – Bruce looking decidedly windswept, but a lot more awake, at least – and the trek back through the forest was much less stressful than the journey there. Everyone was in high spirits, knowing – for now, at least – that the whole ordeal was over.

Steve was just happy that he would get to see with his own eyes that Tony was okay.

It was as they came to the river crossing that he started to feel a little uneasy, however. Where there had been wildlife singing and a breeze gently caressing the fauna only a few, short feet away, now there was only silence, and he didn't like it one bit.

“Something's wrong,” he murmured, coming to a stop on the river embankment.

“How do you mean?” Bruce asked, coming to a stop beside him and frowning.

“It's too quiet, and -”

A sudden, familiar cry of fear coming from beyond the slope at the other side of the river had him running without even finishing his sentence. Tony was in trouble – _big_ trouble – and Steve had been so, horribly stupid for thinking the Mandarin would just give up like that.

He could hear the others stumbling along behind him, but he didn't slow down so they could catch up – just followed the sound of snuffling cries and whimpers of fear until, throwing himself over the top of the slope, he came to a horrified stop a few feet away from the Quinjet.

“Ah, Captain, I wondered when you would be joining us,” the Mandarin smirked, stood in the open with no fear as he clutched Tony by the neck in front of him. Off to the side, War Machine was slumped on the ground, obviously unconscious.

“Let him go,” Steve ordered, not allowing his voice to waver even though the fear in Tony's eyes was making his heart stutter in his chest. “Right now, Mandarin, let him go.”

The others gathered around him in their usual formation, and he felt more confident for their silent support. The Mandarin seemed unperturbed by the fact that he was hopelessly outnumbered, however, and just laughed in their faces.

“Do you still think it is this hopeless creature I want?” he asked, shaking Tony a little in the process. “He is useless. I wish to offer you a trade.”

Steve knew what was coming even before the man said it. “Me for him?”

“Exactly, Captain,” he nodded, still smiling. “You for him.”

“And if I refuse?” Steve asked, even though he knew, in his heart, that he wouldn't – couldn't.

“Then he dies.”

“Steve,” Sam cut in quietly before Steve could agree to anything. “Let's just think about this for a second, buddy, okay? There has to be another way to -”

“I won't let him die,” he replied shortly, hate churning in his gut at the sight of the Mandarin's smug grin. “You can't ask me to do that.”

“We're not,” Clint placated, “but you can't just give yourself up, either. The guy's crazy, Cap – pretty sure he wants to grind your bones for his bread.”

They were right, of course, just like they had been right all along, but... Tony's terrified face was making him physically ache, and when the man let out a quiet, whimpered, “Steve,” he knew exactly what he had to do.

“Okay,” he nodded, taking a step away from his team, and ignoring their sighs. “Me for him.”

The Mandarin's triumphant laugh was awful, but Steve ignored it in lieu of reaching out and catching Tony as the man practically threw him forwards into his arms. As soon as he realised he was safe, the brunet started quivering and crying in shocked horror, and all but clung to Steve's shirt, repeating his name over and over again.

“It's okay,” Steve whispered into his hair, hugging him close for just a moment. “You're okay now, all right? You have to... go with Natasha and the others, Tony, okay? You just have to be brave for a little while longer -”

“No, Steve,” Tony whined hysterically as he tried to steer him towards the others. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Rhodey starting to wake. “No, Steve, don' go. Please don' go.”

“I have to,” he replied, voice trembling as he tried to hold back his own tears. “I'll be fine, okay? I'll be fine, Iron Man.”

At the gentle reminder, Tony stopped crying quite so hard, and looked up at him, lip quivering. “'Cos you're Cap'tin 'merica?”

“Because I'm Captain America,” Steve confirmed, steering the man into Natasha's arms.

“If you're quite finished,” the Mandarin tutted, and Steve turned back towards him, feeling ready to watch the whole world burn if it destroyed this man. “Shall we?”

He nodded stiffly, and – as he walked past the War Machine armour again – whispered, “It's the rings,” and hoped Rhodey understood.

“Your little team will give us safe passage, or every single one of them dies. Do you understand?” the Mandarin spat as he came within touching distance. “None of your tricks, Captain.”

“Now, would I really do that?” he drawled in reply, before – quick as a flash – he grabbed the man's arm and spun him to use as a shield. “Now, War Machine!”

The familiar sound of the suit's repulsors powering up sounded, but – before Rhodey's shot could find its target – the Mandarin slipped out of his grip with unexpected speed, grace, and strength, leaving Steve to take the full force of the blast. Any normal person would have been killed by it, he thought distantly as the skin where he'd been hit began to bubble and burn, but he would be fine. He had to be fine, for everyone's sake.

Grunting as his injuries pulled, he reached up and yanked his shield off his back, then sent it spinning towards the Mandarin, who was already busy dodging arrows, bullets and repulsor blasts at the same time. He was sure one of them would hit, but – the longer the man flipped and ducked out of the way of their assaults – he became less convinced.

The shield sailed straight over the Mandarin's head, but, at least, seemed to catch his attention for a moment, because he whipped around – regardless of what was still being shot at him – and flung a hand out in Steve's direction. Immediately, he felt himself begin to lift off the ground, until he was hanging in mid-air. Tony's shocked cry from somewhere nearby filtered through to him, but – in the next second – he felt his body begin to thrum and vibrate uncomfortably right down to his organs, and, as it intensified, he felt like he was being completely shaken apart from the inside out. The bullet wound in his side was reopening, and the repulsor burn on his stomach was agony, but -

“Rings!” he managed to just about blurt out as his vision began to flicker and sway worryingly. “The rings!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clint take aim and fire directly at the Mandarin's outstretched hand. If the way the man suddenly screamed in agony – as Steve dropped back to the floor – was anything to go by, the archer had taken the man's fingers right off. He would have gotten up to finish the man for good, but he found that he actually couldn't lift himself off the floor, as weak and shaky as he was. His vision faded in and out – never quite focusing like he wanted it to – but he could hear the battle coming to a close, and the Mandarin's voice becoming more and more distressed, so he wasn't too worried.

He couldn't really feel anything beyond pain right now, if he was being completely honest.

“Steve?”

The sound of Tony's voice drew him out of his head a little, and he managed to focus long enough to watch the man – teary eyed and terrified – as he laid down on the ground beside him. Thank God, he didn't seem to be hurt.

“T-Tony,” he stuttered, words getting stuck in his throat. “S'okay. S'okay.”

“You're bleeding real bad, Steve,” Tony whispered, and the sudden flair of pain in his abdomen told Steve the brunet had just touched his wound. “Y'gonna need a lotta band aids.”

Steve smiled – simply couldn't help himself – and forced his quivering arms up and around the other man, distantly hoping that, by physically holding on, Tony would keep him conscious. Obediently, the genius wrapped his arms gently around Steve, too, and he took a moment to simply revel in the fact that, whether he survived now or not, he had got Tony back, safe and sound.

“Need more 'n band aids.” His chuckle turned into a wet cough very quickly, and he tasted blood in the back of his throat. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony nodded. “M'Iron Man.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, vision beginning to blur again, “and you always will be.”

Tony's breathtaking smile was the last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him.

\---

“Of course, extensive research and testing is going to have to go into this, because we still haven't got a clue what half of them do, but – for now – I think it's safe to say that Steve will be fine,” Bruce concluded from SHIELD's conference room table, reaching over to begin packing the Mandarin's bloodied, battered rings back into the briefcase he had pulled them from.

It had been a few weeks since their battle with the Mandarin – who Steve now knew was, indeed, dead. He had spent the first couple of days in a SHIELD intensive care unit whilst their medical staff worried themselves over what the Mandarin had done to him. Essentially, one of his rings had possessed the ability to rearrange matter, so, basically, he had been trying to tear Steve apart right from his very core.

It had been about as fun as it sounded.

Luckily, though, Hawkeye had – as Steve had thought – managed to take the Mandarin's fingers (and, therefore, his rings) right off his hands just in time, and the rest of the Avengers had taken the man down shortly after Steve had blacked out. From there – and he was going on field reports for this, because he couldn't remember a thing between him passing out and waking up in the hospital with Tony drawing on him in Sharpie – they had gotten him into the Quinjet and back to SHIELD as quickly as possible. His stillness had scared the genius, apparently, but Rhodey had been able to calm him down enough to get them all back without further trouble.

Overall, he still ached terribly, and he had trouble standing up and sitting down sometimes (which Clint gave him no end of shit for), but Steve was very much on the mend, and – for that – he was truly grateful. It meant that they had had to wait for him to be able to walk without a cane before they debriefed, but he found he was more than okay with letting Fury sweat for a while.

“Rogers, have you even been listening?” said man snapped from the other side of the table, and – where Steve had been paying attention – he had also been helping Tony with his colouring, because since he had had his cast removed, it was all the brunet wanted to do.

What could he say? It wasn't like he was just going to let the man out of his sight after what had _happened._

“You know, technically, Sir, I quit,” he shrugged, but took pity on him when he began audibly grinding his teeth, “but yes, I was listening. Serum means I can multi-task, as it happens.”

On his other side, Sam snorted none-too-discreetly.

“All right, enough of the back chat,” Fury growled, and Steve respectfully nodded, because – where he was game for a little banter – he did actually know his place, and where the line was. “Yes, you got Stark back, but you put yourself, your team, and numerous others in danger in the process -”

“My friends!”

They all whipped around at exactly the same time at the sound of Thor's voice – Steve trying to hide his wince when his injuries pulled – and couldn't help but grin when the God strode into the room, stranger in tow.

“I bear excellent news,” he continued, leading his guest into the room by her shoulder. “I travelled far and wide through the nine realms in search of a reversal to brother Anthony's predicament, and, now, I have found one.

“Groa here,” he gestured for the woman to step forwards, “has helped me many a time – most recently in my battle against the giant Hrungnir – and has pledged herself and her skills to our cause.”

Steve felt elated – heart fluttering madly in his chest – at the realisation that Thor had finally done it. He had found a way to reverse the ray. But then... suddenly – as quickly as it had come – his excitement faded away to be replaced with dread. He had... _enjoyed_ getting to see Tony like this, and had definitely enjoyed being needed for a change. If this sorceress changed the genius back, would they still be as close as they were now? Hell, Tony was practically in his lap half the time. He had a feeling, in his right mind, the brunet wouldn't be as inclined to do that.

But... Steve really had no right to make decisions like this for him. Of course Tony would want to be changed back, if he were in his right mind to say so, and they had to respect his wishes, even if it might hurt. Steve was a big boy – he had lost people in the past – and he could get over this.

Probably.

“What are we waiting for, then?” he asked, sitting up properly in his seat and flashing a reassuring smile at Tony, who looked very confused.

“Wha's goin' on?” he asked, putting his blue pencil down. He eyed Thor and his guest – Groa – warily. “Steve?”

“It's nothing, Tony,” he replied reassuringly, even though his stomach felt like it was lined with lead. “This lady is going to show us some magic, is all.”

“Magic?” Tony gasped, suddenly all ears. “Really?”

“Yes, little one,” Groa replied when his curious eyes turned to her. “Now, watch very closely -”

Without another word, she simply clicked her fingers, and Tony pitched forwards, boneless. If it weren't for Steve being right beside the man to catch him, he would have toppled over onto the floor.

“I – what did you do to him?” he asked worriedly, noticing how Tony's eyes had fluttered shut, and his breathing slowed. “If you hurt him -”

He didn't get another word out, though, because then the woman began chanting in a language he didn't understand. Glancing at Thor for confirmation that this wasn't doing Tony any harm, he reluctantly sat back with the man still resting in his arms, and watched as Groa continued to chant – waving her arms in the air as though casting invisible spider webs.

Finally, after a few more moments of simply watching, the spell came to an end. Tony seemed to sigh deeply in Steve's arms, but otherwise stayed asleep.

“It is done,” Groa announced, smiling at Thor. “When he wakes, he shall be himself again.”

“We owe you a debt of gratitude,” the God replied, bowing respectfully. “You know not how important our brother is to us -”

“Honestly, after the spell to remove the stone in your brain went wrong, I am just glad it _worked_ ,” Groa replied, as though she hadn't just let slip that there had been a chance it _might not have worked._

“Um, do you not think you should have, maybe, _told us about that_ before we let her started magicking up on Tony, Thor?” Clint asked from the other side of the table, obviously thinking the same thing as Steve.

“It was my own fault Groa's last spell did not work,” the God shrugged, “and this one did, so I would pay it no mind. I had complete faith in her.”

“All right, well, looks like my meeting's fucking over, then, doesn't it?” Fury cut in. Steve, honestly, had completely forgotten he was there. “Guess you amateurs are leaving, huh? Well, yeah, whatever – get out of my sight.”

Steve grinned as he scooped Tony up into his arms, because – if he didn't know better – he could have sworn he saw a relieved look on the Director's face as Groa had announced the spell a success.

Seemed like he did care, after all.

\---

The following hours were hell.

Steve, of course, sat by Tony's bedside while the genius continued to sleep, fretting over when he was going to wake up, and how much he was going to remember when he did. In an ideal world, Tony would remember everything that had happened – all the moments, no matter how innocent, that they had shared. Worst case scenario, he didn't remember anything.

But they had been friends before all this, right? It wasn't like they were going right back to square one, like they had been before the battle of Manhattan. At least, Steve hoped not. Honestly, in the few weeks that he had cared for Tony like this, he had forgotten how they used to be before. He just hoped he could salvage some form of friendship at the very least.

At least seven hours passed before the genius finally _did_ begin to stir, and – after so many hours of idly sitting by – Steve all but shot out of his chair with nerves. Steeling himself for what was potentially to come instead, he reached out and laid a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder.

“Tony?” he murmured, and then got momentarily distracted by the way the brunet's eyelashes fluttered with his coming awake. “I, uh... Tony?”

Tony hummed in response – head rolling languidly on his neck as his eyes cracked open – and then, all at once, he snapped upwards, eyes wide and confused.

“Tony, you're -”

“Where am I?” he cut in, glancing around him warily. “I – what happened?”

Steve's heart didn't seem to know whether to leap at the fact that Tony was back, or sink because he didn't seem to remember. “You're okay. I... what do you remember?”

There was still a little hope, after all. The man could just be disorientated from sleep.

“I... we were fighting Doom and Loki,” the genius replied, brow creasing in confusion, “and there was... well, I didn't really know what it was, but they were aiming it at you, and I had the suit, so I... did it do something to me? Is that why you're hovering over my deathbed?”

“It's not your deathbed,” Steve snapped, probably a little more harshly than he should have, but thoughts like that really didn't bear thinking about on top of everything else. “You really don't remember anything else after that?”

“Should I?” Tony countered, and he still looked mightily confused. “I think I have a right to know if it gave me scales, or something.”

“It didn't give you scales,” Steve shook his head. Honestly, Tony hadn't been awake for five minutes and he was already getting a stress headache. “It... well, it turned you into a child.”

A disbelieving silence rang around the room, and Steve already hated this – hated that Tony didn't trust him without question, hated that he needed more than this now. He had taken Tony's inability to care for himself for granted, and now the genius didn't need him anymore, he didn't know what to do with himself. He had just wanted... well, he wasn't sure _what_ he wanted, but it certainly wasn't this.

“A... child?” Tony repeated, eyebrows up past his hairline. “I didn't think you had a joke in you, Rogers, really -”

“I'm telling the truth,” Steve cut in sharply, heart aching at the genius' use of his last name. “Ask anyone. The spell, ray, whatever, it didn't change you physically, but you had the mind of a three year old. Hell, you... you _clung_ to me, so don't you dare play this off as -”

“I... clung to you?” the genius asked quietly, and his expression was unreadable until he moulded it into his usual, fake smile. “Well, I'm obviously all better now, right? I don't need you watching over my every move, Cap, lovely as the gesture is, so I think I'll just -”

And then the genius was slipping out of bed, having thrown the covers back so fast that Steve didn't have time to make him lie back down before he was up and walking to the door. Mightily confused (and more than a little hurt) by the way Tony was acting, he sprang to his feet, too.

“Tony, where are you -”

“Workshop, Cap. If you're right, I've got work to catch up on,” the other man threw over his shoulder, before disappearing from sight without so much as a _thanks_.

Steve stood, frozen, in the middle of the room as it finally dawned on him that the Tony he had known – hell, the Tony he had loved and cared for – was now gone again. He really didn't know what he had been expecting, honestly.

\---

Steve absolutely did _not_ mope. Just because the man he was in love with – and he had finally admitted it to himself, because there was just nothing else that the churning feeling in his gut could be – was being a stubborn jackass and not letting Steve feed and cuddle and put him to bed didn't mean he hated him, but... dammit, that's how it felt. Tony was avoiding the whole team altogether, and not even Pepper had been able to coax him out of his workshop.

(No, Steve had not called Pepper to whine about how mean Tony was being to him. That would just be... _childish_ ).

The problem was that he had grown so accustomed to planning his day around the genius that – now he was gone completely – he didn't know what to do with himself. He had completely forgotten how he'd spent his days before Tony became his priority; sure, he'd spent a little time in the workshop with the man, hanging out, but that hadn't taken up his whole day, had it? He really could no longer tell.

What he _did_ know, however, was that it felt like he was missing a limb. He'd look up, expecting Tony to be there, only for the grief to resurface afresh as he remembered that the genius wasn't there. He _missed_ Tony – more, he was beginning to think, than anyone else he had lost in his life – and wasn't that just something? The man wasn't even dead, for God's sake – there was literally just a floor between them – but Steve had never felt so alone and bereft.

“You know,” Clint drawled as he sauntered into the kitchen – five days after Tony had been changed back – while Steve was pouting his way through making a sandwich, “you could always just talk to the guy, y'know?”

“I've _tried_ that,” he sighed, not even pretending to misunderstand as he threw his peanut-buttery knife down on the counter. “He won't let me into the workshop. JARVIS says he's fine, but I don't believe him.”

“Well, he's got to still be conscious, at least,” Clint shrugged. “I trust JARVIS to at least tell us if he stops breathing, or something.”

“That really doesn't make me feel any better,” Steve replied. The thought of Tony slowly starving himself to death rather than talking to him, honestly, made his heart ache a little, so he grabbed the knife to go back to making his sandwich so he had a distraction. “He doesn't have a lot of food down there, right? I figure he has to come out sometime.”

“Sure,” Clint nodded. “Then you can corner him while he's hungry and sleep deprived. That's definitely going to go well.”

“Then what would you _suggest_ I do?” he snapped, growling aloud in annoyance when he realised he'd made two sandwiches without even noticing... _again._ “Please, tell me, Clint, because I'm dying to know! Tell me how _you_ would express your feelings to a man who doesn't even want to be in the same _room_ as you?”

“First of all,” Clint replied evenly, and reached out for the spare (Tony's) sandwich, “I don't appreciate your tone right now, Captain Sassy. I know this is hard for you and stuff, but you need to chill just a little, okay? Tony's not hiding because he _hates_ you, dumb ass.”

“Then what -”

“Secondly,” the archer cut him off, waving his half-sandwich to stop him, “you need to realise that the guy Tony was a week ago – baby Tony – isn't the same guy he is now. He looks the same, sure, but they're two completely different guys. The sooner that you realise that this Tony – our Tony – needs completely different things from you, the better. I swear to God, all this UST is making me -”

“I know they're different,” Steve defended, but it sounded weak even in his ears. “I just -”

“Wish our Tony would be as open and loving as he was when he was a kid?” Clint finished for him, taking an especially large bite of his sandwich. “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, Cap, but you're still kinda new around here, and you've not seen the same stuff we have – Tony Stark, the adult, is kind of emotionally stunted... and an asshole.”

“He's not -”

“He's a complete asshole, and you know it,” the archer rolled his eyes. “But that's why we all love him, right? Because he can be a complete douche canoe – can be arrogant, and self-righteous – but he still chooses to save the world. Guy's a gazillionaire, for fuck's sake – he doesn't need to save the world – but he does it anyway because _he_ needs Iron Man just as much as the world does. Iron Man doesn't just protect the world; he protects baby Tony – all the guy's doubts and insecurities; all his hopes and dreams – _from_ the world.

“The kid's not gone – not completely,” he shrugged, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth. “Life just beat and broke him down 'til he became our Tony. The suit gives him a chance to leave all that behind and be whoever he wants to be.”

Steve had never thought of it like that before, but – now that he was – it made complete sense. Tony always seemed so carefree in the suit – as though literally nothing but the constraints of his own imagination could hold him back – and his childlike enthusiasm (sometimes wrongly placed, but still) had been partially what had gotten the team through the battle of Manhattan alive and in one piece.

“Baby Tony needed you to love and take care of him because he couldn't do it himself,” Clint continued. “Our Tony doesn't need that. He needs you to understand that he's had to take care of _himself_ , and that he doesn't always manage it like a normal human being, but that's how he does it, and how it works for him. He needs you to understand that, and not try to change him, and love him _despite_ it.”

“I do,” Steve mumbled, staring down at his own sandwich. “Of course I do. I would never try to change him – he's -”

“If you say _perfect just the way he is_ , I will actually choke you out,” Clint told him seriously, and Steve couldn't help but smile, just a little.

“None of that matters if he doesn't feel the same way, though, right? He still refuses to even talk to me, and -”

“Jesus, do either of you dweebs ever listen?” the archer sighed, and Steve was getting a little sick of being cut off mid sentence, to be honest. “The guy totally feels the same way, but, like I said, he's emotionally stunted. He'll be down there right now, curled up on that shitty couch and listening to Coldplay, and he won't even know why.”

Could that really be true? He seemed to remember Rhodey saying something similar back on the Quinjet, but he had just played it off as the guy being uncomfortable and kind. Could... could Tony really feel the same way about him? He really didn't know what to do with even the _prospect_ of that information. It just seemed so unlikely. What could Tony Stark – renowned genius and pretty much perfect guy – want with him?

“Don't do that face.”

Clint immediately drew him out of his thoughts, and he frowned, confused. “What face?”

“That's your self-doubt face,” the man continued, raising a single eyebrow. “Captain America shouldn't even know how to make that face, so stop it. Listen to what I'm telling you, and stop it right now. You are both idiots and I hate my life.”

“No you don't,” he muttered, but did as he was told and put those thoughts to the back of his mind as he finally reached out for his sandwich.

Somehow, it tasted better than usual.

\---

“Steve?” Tony murmured, and he immediately shot out of his seat on the sofa at the sound of the genius' hoarse voice.

Despite his conversation with Clint giving him a new-found resolve, it had been a further three days since then, and Steve had started to worry about Tony's health again. It looked like he had been right to, as well, because the genius looked like absolute hell: his hair was matted with sweat and stuck out at all angles; his eyes looked sore and red-rimmed, contrasting heavily with the pale pallor of his face; the weight Steve had seen him put on over the past few weeks seemed to have simply melted away, leaving his clothes hanging precariously off all his sharp edges and curves. The worst part, however, were the bandages messily covering the brunet's fingers and hands – all of which were soiled with blood, and looked incredibly painful.

Tony looked miserable.

“ _Tony,”_ he breathed, not knowing what else to say, or whether to move, in case it scared the other man away again.

“I...” the genius seemed to be physically quivering a little, as though his words were paining him. “I... need help.”

Steve was by his side without another word. After his talk with Clint he had been doing some thinking of his own, and he realised, now, how much those words had to have cost Tony – the level of trust he was putting in Steve by letting him see him vulnerable. He was going to cherish that trust without question, knowing full well that the genius would clam up again if he did.

“I've got you,” he murmured, taking Tony gently by the shoulder. “Let's get you some food, okay? And we'll take a look at those hands.”

Tony just hummed non-committally, and allowed Steve to gently steer him across the room and down into a chair in the kitchen. He immediately filled up a glass with juice and put it in front of the man with the instruction to “drink”, while he went about fixing them a couple of sandwiches. He also cut up an apple and banana for Tony, and split a bag of chips between both their plates. Then, satisfied with their meal, he set them down on the table – a little surprised to find Tony had, in fact, drank all his juice – and snagged the carton in case the genius wanted any more, as well as the first aid kit on top of the fridge, before he sat down.

Tony hadn't needed prompting, and was already digging into his meal, which was a nice change. Usually, when Steve tried to feed him (Tony being a child not withstanding), he'd put up a fight every step of the way, but the genius was being suspiciously compliant tonight.

“Can I look at your hands?” he asked quietly, breaking the calm silence that had fallen over the room, after he'd finished his meal. Tony, who had finished long before Steve, and who had been silently eyeing up the remainder of his chips (which he gladly swept onto the other man's plate, if it meant he ate something), gave a sharp, little nod, and held out one hand while he ate with the other.

Gently, Steve took the hand in both of his own and peeled the soiled bandages away, revealing a series of deep – but thankfully not infected – cuts.

“I... I got mad,” Tony whispered, as though he thought Steve expected an explanation from him. “Took it out on the suit.”

“It's okay,” Steve replied softly, reaching into the first aid kit to grab some antibacterial wipes. “Only a couple of them look like they need stitches, so that's good. This is going to sting.”

Tony sat back in silence and allowed him to scrub at the dried, crusty flakes of blood coating his hands without a word. At least none of the cuts were still bleeding, Steve thought to himself as he reached for the suturing kit. Again, Tony sat by without a word as he quickly stitched the man's skin together, before wrapping clean bandages around the wounds and starting on the other hand.

“I'm...” Tony frowned, obviously struggling with finding a way to voice the apology that was written all over his face.

“It's all right,” Steve told him, gently squeezing his hand as he finished redressing it. It wasn't all right, of course – the genius had worried him sick, and left him feeling unwanted and alone – but, at this point, he was just so glad he was back that he was sure he'd forgive just about anything. “It was a lot to take in, and I shouldn't have -”

“No, I... these past weeks, you shouldn't have... had to look after me like that.”

Which roughly translated as _I didn't want you to see me vulnerable like that_ , and that just wouldn't do. Sighing softly to himself, he took Tony's hand in both of his again – ignoring how the genius' eyes went a little wide – and gently stroked his thumb across bruised knuckles. He had hoped he could get Tony to sleep for a little while so he could gather his thoughts, but it looked like they were having this conversation now.

“I want to look after you,” he told him, and made sure to catch his eye so the man could see how sincere he was. “I _liked_ it, Tony.”

“But... why?” Tony asked, and he just looked so confused – so beaten down and weary – that Steve could barely stand it. “I'm not... I can't be that -”

“I know you can't,” he soothed. “I'm not asking you to be.”

“But, then what...” Tony looked frustrated with himself, and the fact that he couldn't express what he wanted to say. “I'm irrational, and I don't listen to what people say to me, and I'm not good with change, and I work too hard for too long, and -”

“And you're also kind, compassionate, and loyal. I know you don't like to show it, Tony – know it can be difficult for you – but I can see it. I could see it long before you got hit with that ray,” he replied softly, staring intently down at where their hands were interlocked, because he couldn't bear to look at Tony's expression. “You know I – we – don't expect you to change, right? We love you for _you_ , Tony, good and bad... _I_ love you.”

He heard the genius' breath hitch and, when he dared to glance up, he didn't know how to interpret the man's expression. Watching warily as – instead of saying anything – Tony got to his feet, he was a little confused when the brunet moved around the table and tugged him to his feet, too.

“Tony, what -”

But Tony swallowed the rest of his question as he pulled him down for a kiss. For a second, the shock of it all was so great that Steve froze, and then he wrapped his arms tightly around the man and kissed back wholeheartedly. He didn't know how long they stood there, just kissing, but the feeling in his chest was light and warm – even more so when Tony dared to slip his tongue past Steve's lips and deepen the kiss.

They had to part for air eventually, though, and because Tony was so exhausted that he was beginning to list forwards and sag into Steve's chest. With a final, content hum, Steve reluctantly pulled away – feeling a little shiver of excitement shoot up his spine, noticing Tony lean forwards just slightly to chase his lips – and pressed their foreheads lightly together.

“I'm not good at relationships,” Tony whispered, and he sounded a little wrecked.

“Neither am I,” Steve shrugged, wrapping his arms just a little tighter around the man. “I guess we'll just have to figure it out together, huh?”

Tony's smile – so open, honest, and hopeful – meant more to Steve than any of the ones he had received from him while he was a child. This was _his_ Tony, after all.


End file.
